Descent Into Madness
by Alsas1975
Summary: Former Death Eaters are being found brutally murdered. A new friend leads to a quest with far-reaching ramifications for the magical world and beyond. A tale of intrigue, betrayal, and friendship set against the backdrop of the Triwizard Tournament. H/Hr, with a different take on Lunar Harmony. Rated M for language and graphic violence.
1. Prologue

AN: Welcome back, dear readers! This new story is the result of the labour of the better part of a year, and is also my first complete novel-length work. _Descent Into Madness_ was quite a lot of fun to write, I must say. I've never written anything that could be classified in the Horror genre before, so my apologies in advance if this does not live up to your expectations. I like to follow canon up until the point that I just don't want to anymore, at which point I veer off on my own tangent. That is a general rule I follow anytime I'm writing fan fiction, so if anyone seems a little OOC, that's why. I also appropriate mythology and use it for my own ends, and adapt it as I want, again following the traditions up until the point I feel like doing something different. If this bothers anyone, I apologize, but I stand by what I've written. My purpose is to entertain, not write an historical dissertation. And once more, as Harry Potter is a British character, I've chosen to use British English instead of my own American English.

This story is solid Harmony, and almost-but-not-quite Lunar Harmony. I've always felt that Harry and Hermione belonged together, and I've never really liked Ron. He's always struck me as a useless buffoon, frankly. IMHO, the so-called "Golden Trio" would have been infinitely better if Luna had been the third member instead of Ron.

As far as locations are concerned, I used the White Hound Fan Fiction website as my chief source. "Location, Location" and "The Map of Hogwarts Project" are both simply amazing, and the attention to detail is unsurpassed. Coupled with Google Maps, I was able to add quite a lot of detail that I otherwise just would not have had.

My other major sources were several Dungeons and Dragons handbooks, particularly the Book of Vile Darkness and the Book of Exalted Deeds, and the Call of Cthulhu RPG handbooks. Most of the spell descriptions I use were taken straight from one of the two D&D books, as well as weapons and armour.

While I have not deliberately put any clichés in here, neither have I avoided any. Clichés, as a rule, do not bother me, and as there are well over 700,000 Harry Potter fan fics on this site alone, I suspect one would be hard-pressed to find a story that _didn't_ have any. Thus, while constructive criticism is always welcome, I am completely uninterested in hearing about the presence or absence of clichés. I simply don't care. Flames, as always, will be consigned to the outer darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. At least there they may provide a moment of warmth to the souls of the damned.

 **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and Company belong to Ms. Rowling and all entities she has authorized. Call of Cthulhu _et al_ I would ascribe to the Lovecraft estate, despite much of it being in the public domain, or to the various authors that expanded that particular mythos. Cruiser-Destroyer Group Five and the USS _Louisville_ belongs to the United States Navy. The only things I can take full credit for are the Sentinels of the Holy Cross and the plot. Enjoy!

***DIM***

Dark clouds scudded overhead as the steady rain beat down. The light from the full moon tried in vain to find a break in the thunderheads, though occasionally some of the thinner clouds glowed a ghostly white as the moon's location in the sky was revealed. The occasional bolt of lightning revealed tree-covered hills of the gently-rolling northwest Wiltshire countryside, not too far south of Wales. In the middle of a shallow vale, hidden from the casual observer behind an impressive series of magical wards designed to obscure vision and deflect notice, as well as many others with much more nefarious intents, lay an imposing yet stately manor with square walls and tall, narrow spires. A thick wall surrounded the sprawling front lawn, broken only by the drive that led straight to the front door. A pair of tall hedgerows flanked the drive, allowing the person walking up to see nothing but the rigid architecture of the manor house before them. An ornate iron gate barricaded the drive midway down. The effect was meant to intimidate and awe, and it seldom failed to succeed.

The manor itself consisted of a ground floor, a first floor, and a second floor, with some of the squared towers also containing a third floor. Narrow, rectangular floor-to-ceiling windows designated the different storeys. Most of the windows were dark at this hour, but a few gas lamps still burned inside. Though unseen from the outside, there was also an underground dungeon level where, despite the modern mindset to frown on such behaviour, captives were frequently held, tortured, and finally murdered.

A cloaked and disillusioned figure watched the manor from the vantage point of an oak tree on the edge of the property, far enough away that no alarms would be triggered. A jagged bolt of lightning lit up the night as the rain increased, though the hunter's magesight was not affected in the slightest. The manor's wards could still be seen in all their multi-coloured splendour. Most witches or wizards would pale at the sight of so many, especially those of malevolent nature, and none but the bravest or most fool-hardy would even consider trying to break through. Even those who were powerful enough to break through the wards would tread carefully. There was no telling what other traps or surprises awaited.

The accompanying peal of thunder rolled across the valley, and there was a whispered incantation, a sudden blur of movement, and the hunter was safely through the wards and stepping out of the shadows of the colonnaded porch. A moment later the unseen figure was climbing up the wall to one of the darkened first storey windows. Peering inside, the hunter whispered the same incantation and a moment later was inside.

The room, a conservatory if the grand piano was anything to judge by, was darkened along with most of the rest of the house, but the hunter moved across the chamber as if it were midday, never once stumbling over any of the furniture. A doorway led to a dim landing where the main stairway led down to the great hall. On the other side of the landing, opposite the conservatory door, a balcony railing overlooked the library downstairs on the ground floor.

Below, sitting at an ornate desk, a tumbler of firewhiskey off to the side, an aristocratic man with long blond hair studied a stack of papers. The hunter smiled and dropped the disillusion spell before vaulting over the railing.

Lucius Malfoy was reaching for his glass of firewhiskey when a thud sounded from behind, startling him and causing him to knock the glass over. Cursing, he grabbed his wand and disappeared the spilled alcohol before it could stain his desktop. He spun his chair around and leapt to his feet as he caught sight of the cloaked figure rising to its feet. Its face was hidden in the shadows of its hood and he could not even tell if the figure was male or female. All he could tell was that it was wearing what looked to be black leather armour of some kind under the dark grey cloak.

"I have no idea how you got in here," Malfoy sneered as he raised his wand, "but it is the last mistake of your pathetic life!"

Two impossibly long lengths of chain burst out from under the stranger's cloak, accompanied by writhing, shadowy tendrils of pure darkness that dissipated into the air. Before the startled wizard had time to react, the chains, moving as fast as striking snakes, had wrapped around his arms, torso, and legs, completely immobilizing him. Malfoy was stunned. He'd never heard of a spell that could do this, and the stranger had cast it silently and wandlessly to boot!

He tried to move his wand, but a quick glance showed him that the rushing chain had splintered it beyond repair. "Do you know who I am?" he bellowed in rage.

"I know exactly who you are, Lucius Malfoy." A black gloved hand reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing the feral glint in the hunter's eyes.

The blood rushed from his face as his bladder voided itself. "You…" he whispered. "Impossible!"

The hunter smiled, a truly terrifying sight. Even as Malfoy watched in growing horror, razor sharp blades sprouted from the chains like leaves on a vine, slicing through cloth and flesh alike. A terrified scream escaped his lips despite himself. Only then did the chains start twisting around his body again.

***DIM***

Barnabas Cuffe strode down the narrow predawn street of Diagon Alley, the gas lamps casting flickering shadows on the wet cobblestone. Few people were awake this early in the morning, other than the proprietors and suppliers of the various shops in the alley. The shopping wouldn't really begin until around midmorning, giving the workers here several hours to get ready for the day. He himself, as the editor for the _Daily Prophet_ , had tomorrow's paper to lay out and an editorial to write. Other staff would be coming in as well, getting the last-minute touches on articles and photographs together for the next day's edition.

A terrified shriek echoed down the alley from the direction of the _Prophet_ 's offices. Quickening his steps, he came upon several of his employees staring at a scene from a nightmare. One of his male reporters had actually fainted at the sight of the grisly scene before them, and both of the witches on site were huddled together in tears, both hyperventilating and on the verge of a breakdown. Another of his reporters was busily snapping pictures from different angles. Cuffe himself began to feel lightheaded as he took in the horror, and was grateful that he had not yet broken his fast. It appeared that several of his employees were not as fortunate.

A human body had been nailed spread-eagled on the outside of the _Daily Prophet_ office, right beside the front door. The body had been completely flayed except for the left forearm, which bore the distinctive tattoo of the Dark Mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The exposed muscles of the corpse had been deeply scored countless times, as if a hundred swords had slashed every inch of the body. The corpse had also been disembowelled and beheaded, but the ultimate horror was that the head had been placed inside the empty abdominal cavity.

Another chill ran up Cuffe's spine as he recognized who it was. The long blond hair was matted with gore, and dried blood dripped down the face, but the terrified, screaming countenance of Lucius Malfoy was unmistakeable.

Cuffe grabbed the nearest person that looked semi-coherent. "Notify Amelia Bones immediately," he rasped. "Minister Fudge, too." The shaken type setter was only too happy to comply. Anything to get away from the horrific sight.

The editor looked up at the writing painted above the mutilated corpse and wondered what it could portend. A single word, written in what he could only assume was the victim's own blood.

 _Justice._

***DIM***

The response to Lucius Malfoy's death was immediate and vocal. An apoplectic Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, denounced the brutal murder of such a "fine, upstanding citizen" as Lucius Malfoy and swore that he would not rest until the murderer had been brought to justice. It was whispered that Fudge was more upset that his primary source of "donations" was no longer able to grease his palm than he was at the actual death of the man. Malfoy's tattoo was conveniently ignored, as was the one-word message left scrawled on the _Prophet_ 's façade.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, led by Director Amelia Bones, was at a loss. The killer had left behind no evidence whatsoever that might lead to an identification. That dark magic was used was unmistakeable, yet no magical signature or recognizable spell residue could be detected, even with the most detailed arithmantical scans. Physical evidence also came up empty. Even bringing in the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries yielded no results. It was rare that even they could be stumped, and they did not take it well.

No one could determine whether the killer held a personal grudge against Malfoy in particular or Death Eaters in general. Though protected by his wealth and influence, it was common knowledge that Lucius Malfoy had earned many enemies over the course of his life. Even Minister Fudge, Malfoy's staunchest supporter, would acknowledge that.

A week later the body of Walden Macnair, executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, was found dead inside his Ministry office. He had apparently died from massive ruptures all over his body, almost as if something had burst out through his flesh, though no further evidence could be found, magical or otherwise. The corpse was hung by its ankles by meat hooks dangling from the ceiling. The left sleeve of Macnair's shirt was torn off, exposing his Dark Mark for all to see. Just as at the Malfoy crime scene, the word _Justice_ was written on the wall behind Macnair's desk in his own blood. Director Bones immediately took the approach that there was a serial killer targeting former Death Eaters on the loose and steered the DMLE investigation in that direction.

Two days later Minister Fudge called a press conference in the Ministry atrium, during which he condemned the vigilante actions of this killer. "These are upstanding pureblood citizens!" he ranted. "The Wizengamot itself determined these two unfortunate men and many others just like them to have been under the Imperious curse. Does anyone for a moment honestly believe that that august body can be fooled to that degree?"

As if to mock his words, yet another body fell from the shadows overhead, trailing smoky tendrils of darkness behind it, and splashed down into the Fountain of Magical Brethren. A horrified Cornelius Fudge recognized the contorted features of Corban Yaxley, whose corpse had inch-long dagger-like thorns sprouting from what looked like thick vines burrowing under his skin throughout his body. And once more, the word _Justice_ was present, though this time it was carved directly into his naked chest, the only area besides his face and his Dark Mark that was free from the deadly plant growth. Fudge shuddered to think of the pain the man must have endured.

As DMLE aurors rushed into the atrium to contain the scene, one of the more jaded reporters turned back to the Minister, whose mouth was still hanging open in shock. "It would seem, Minister Fudge," the reporter said drily, "that someone disagrees with the Wizengamot's assessment."


	2. Friends and Enemies

"So as soon as Gudgeon saw the snitch," Ron Weasley exclaimed, "he dove after it, and he almost had it! If it had gone to the left instead of the right at the last second he would've, too, and the Cannons would've won. They could still go all the way this year."

Harry Potter nodded absently as his friend kept up his running commentary on the last Chudley Cannons quidditch match. Classes were done for the day and dinner wouldn't be starting in the Great Hall for another hour yet. With no quidditch this year due to the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the die-hard fans of the sport were following the adventures of their favourite professional teams closer than they normally did. And when Ron started talking about his beloved Cannons, he could go on and on for hours. Every year since they'd met, Ron had regaled him (and anyone within earshot) with all kinds of stories about how the Cannons had a chance to win the entire series, despite all evidence to the contrary. As far as Harry knew, the Cannons had never won a game at all.

To be perfectly honest, he was beginning to wonder why he hung out with Ron so much. His ginger friend had a rather volatile temperament, and often spoke without thinking. In and of itself, that wasn't necessarily a big thing – most children their age had a tendency to do so – but Ron had a special talent for cruel and cutting remarks, especially when it came to their other best friend. His table manners were disgusting and often put other students off their own meals. Plus, talking to him was increasingly boring. There was only so much talk about quidditch, chess, or food that he could take, but Ron talked of little else. Finally, Ron had no issues whatsoever blowing off his school work until after the last minute, and had no qualms about demanding help – which meant that someone else would do the work while he read quidditch magazines.

At the same time, Ron _was_ his first friend his own age. He could be funny, when he wasn't behaving like a complete prat, and along with the rest of the Weasleys made him feel welcome in the wizarding world.

On the other hand, he had his future to think of. It was still a crushing disappointment to know that he could not legally live with his godfather, accused murderer Sirius Black. Though the escaped prisoner was innocent of any wrongdoing, in fact had never even been _tried_ , Minister Fudge had flat refused to listen to any explanation or pay heed to any evidence of Black's innocence. The reason, which made Harry grow livid when he thought of it, was that Fudge believed that the Ministry would look bad if he was forced to admit that Sirius had been wrongfully imprisoned in the first place. He still didn't understand why Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster as well as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, couldn't push for a trial anyway, but the headmaster assured him that he just didn't have that kind of political sway. Given that Dumbledore had held his position overseeing and directing the Wizengamot since the previous Minister, Harry wasn't entirely sure that he bought the headmaster's placations. And so, Harry was condemned to yet another summer in his own personal hell for no other reason than political posturing.

On his other side, Hermione Granger shook her head with a faint smile on her lips. She didn't care for the sport much at all – she didn't even like flying – but she always came to the Gryffindor matches to show her support for her house. More accurately, to show her support for her best friend in the world.

Harry actually wasn't as broken-hearted about the lack of quidditch this year as others were. The main reason he played was because he loved flying with a passion, and hunting for the golden snitch just added another element of challenge to the experience. Tuning out Ron's commentary, he gave a discrete glance at the pretty brunette beside him.

Hermione had really blossomed over the summer holidays. She still complained that her front teeth were too big and her hair was too bushy, but deep inside Harry thought she was gorgeous. He thought that she was starting to grow into her teeth, so to speak, and her hair, while still rather wild was not as frizzy as it had been. She had featured heavily in his dreams over the summer, and he had just recently admitted to himself that he was interested in her as more than just a friend. He also acknowledged that he was scared to lose her friendship if she didn't feel the same way. He tried to push those feelings of attraction away because, as he told himself, he'd much rather have her as just a friend than to lose her from his life completely. So, for right now, he focused on just enjoying her company. Nevertheless, those feelings just wouldn't go away, and he knew that somehow or other he'd have to face them – and her. Despite his internal confusion, Harry was looking forward to spending more time with her this year.

He had to admit, though, that he hadn't been the best of friends to her, either. Especially last year when Sirius had sent him the Firebolt for Christmas. Concerned that the racing broom might be cursed, Hermione had informed Professor McGonagall about it. Their teacher had confiscated the broom to ensure that it was clean, but Ron had exploded and refused to talk to her for weeks. To his eternal shame Harry had sided with Ron during that argument, despite knowing deep down that Hermione was just trying to look out for him. Realizing that she cared for him enough to endure his anger was a true eye-opener for him. And later that year, when they were riding Buckbeak the hippogriff together as they rescued Sirius from the tower, she had put her arms around him as she rode behind him, laying her head on his back. He remembered feeling a gentle tugging in his heart for the first time in his life, finally realizing how nice it was when it was just the two of them together.

A gentle throat-clearing behind them caught their attention. As the trio turned around, Ron scowled. "What do you want, Loony?" he growled.

A barefoot, blonde girl wearing Ravenclaw colours and earrings that looked like radishes was standing there, her wand tucked behind her left ear. Harry's quick eyes noticed a look of hurt flash across her face, but an instant later it was gone, replaced by indifference. "It's so nice to see you too, Ronald Weasley," she said in a light, dreamy voice without an ounce of sarcasm. "I just need to speak with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger for a moment."

"And what makes you think they want to speak with you?"

Harry looked at his ginger friend, confused. "What the hell, Ron?"

Ron turned his angry gaze to Harry. "Mate, she's completely round the twist!" he said. "You don't want to associate with the likes of _her_. Completely mental, she is, always talking about animals that don't exist!"

Harry shook his head. "You know, five years ago I would've sworn dragons, unicorns, and hippogriffs didn't exist. Why don't you let _me_ be the judge of who I want to talk to, and let Hermione be the judge of who she wants to talk to? Because I'm telling you right now, you're starting to sound an awful lot like Malfoy and his ilk."

"And really, who appointed you gatekeeper anyway?" Hermione added.

"Fine," Ron snapped, his ears turning as red as his hair. "Don't pay any attention to the one who's lived in wizarding society all his life. Oh no, you're the Boy-Who-Lived and the Know-It-All. Of course you know better." With that he turned around and stomped off, muttering under his breath.

Harry looked at Hermione, his eyebrows raised. _What the hell was_ that _all about?_ She shook her head, as taken aback as he was, and the two turned to face the blonde girl.

The spacey look that had adorned her face a moment ago was gone, replaced with a much more pensive expression.

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "I really don't know what his problem is."

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking down at her bare feet. "Ronald has always had a severe infestation of wrackspurts. I live across the hill from the Burrow and used to go over there to play with Ginny. My name is Luna, Luna Lovegood. You can call me Luna, if you like, or Lovegood, whichever you prefer. Although I would rather not be called Loony," she finished, almost too quiet to hear.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione said as she extended her hand. "Luna is a beautiful name. You already know my name, but please feel free to call me Hermione." She wasn't sure what a wrackspurt was, but after Ron's boorish attitude she figured that it would be better to just be nice to the girl. Luna smiled and shook the other girl's hand.

"And please, call me Harry," the raven-haired boy said.

"Thank you, Harry and Hermione," Luna said as she shook his hand too.

"So, Luna," he said, "what did you want to talk with us about?"

She looked up at him with her large, silver eyes. "If you would bear with me for just a few minutes, I'd prefer to take us someplace where we won't be overheard."

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione, then shrugged. "Sure," he said. "Lead on."

Luna led the other two through the halls and up the shifting stairways, her bare feet slapping on the stone floors.

"Luna," Hermione asked, "where are your shoes?"

"I'm pretty sure that nargles took them," she replied. "Not to worry, it's just a game they play every year. They like to hide my things from me, but almost everything is returned by the end of the year."

Hermione frowned. There was something a little off about Luna's explanation, not the least of which were… nargles?... but she decided to just file it away for the time being.

"Here we are," Luna said at last as she brought them to a stop on the seventh floor. There was a ridiculous tapestry on the wall featuring eight trolls wearing pink tutus and ballet slippers surrounding a hapless wizard. As the eight grotesque dancers pirouetted and swayed, their clubs pummelled the poor wizard in the middle.

"Okay, that's definitely one of the more disturbing pictures I've seen," Harry remarked.

"Barnabas the Barmy," Luna explained. "For some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to teach trolls how to dance for the ballet. As you can see here, his attempt didn't quite work out like he planned."

"Indeed," Hermione said. "Why are we here instead of in an empty classroom?"

"One moment." Luna paced up and down the hall in front of the tapestry, and on her third pass a door appeared in the bare wall on the opposite side. She clapped her hands and opened the door for the other two. "Welcome to the Room of Requirement."

Harry and Hermione stepped through the door into a cosy sitting room. A fireplace adorned the far wall, before which was a low table. Two plush couches, one on either side of the table, sat facing each other. Luna closed the door behind her and gestured to one of the couches. "Please, take a seat. This will take a little while."

"I never knew this room was here," Harry said as he sank into the luxurious cushions.

The blonde Ravenclaw smiled. "Most people don't," she said. "The Room of Requirement is special. It will become whatever you need it to be. All you do is walk in front of the door three times, concentrating on whatever you need it to be."

Hermione gasped. "I would love to see the spellwork to do that!" she said. "I can't imagine how complicated it must be."

Harry reached across and squeezed her hand before she could get carried away. "Thank you for sharing this room with us, Luna. We won't tell anyone else about it without your permission. I know we don't want to take up too much of your time, though…"

"I don't mind, really," Luna replied. "I'm happy to talk with you both for as long as you want. It's good to talk to nice people for a change."

The last was spoken with such a wistful tone that even Harry noticed.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," Hermione began hesitantly, "but surely you have friends in your year or your house to talk to?"

Luna gave them a sad smile and shook her head. "Not really," she said. "Most people think I'm… well, odd. They react much like Ronald Weasley did earlier. I'd love to have friends, but I guess maybe I'm just not meant to have any."

"Well," Harry said, "so far you seem like a nice person. I confess that I've never heard of a nargle or a wrackspurt, but like I told Ron, five years ago I didn't even know about the magical world. I'm not about to say something doesn't exist just because I haven't seen it or heard of it before. Besides, that seems like a rather silly thing to base a friendship on if you ask me. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be willing to consider you a friend."

"I agree," Hermione added. "I'll be honest, I'd prefer to see some concrete evidence regarding the creatures you're talking about, but just like Harry said, that's no reason to determine if a person should or shouldn't be a friend."

Luna's eyes filled with tears. "You really want to be my friends?" she whispered.

The other two nodded. Both knew how lonely it could be when you were rejected by everyone around you, ridiculed and mocked just because you were "different." Their hearts went out to the lonely blonde girl and they resolved to welcome Luna into their circle, Ron's attitude notwithstanding.

"I can see no reason not to be your friend," Harry said, his voice gentle.

Luna nodded. "I really hope so," she said as she dried her eyes. "I also hope that what I'm about to tell you doesn't change your mind. If it does, though, I promise I won't blame you. It's too much for most people to accept."

"What's that?"

"It's directly related to what I want to talk with you about," she said. "I received a message from my grandmother that involves the two of you. Her name is Titania."

Hermione smiled. "Like the Faerie Queen?"

Luna blushed and ducked her head. "Actually, she _is_ the Faerie Queen."

The brunette girl's mouth dropped open. "Seriously? You're not having us on?"

"It's true," the other girl whispered. "My mother, Pandora, was one of Titania's daughters. She met Daddy on one of his expeditions to find the crumple-horned snorkack, and they fell in love and got married. That means that I'm half-fae." She reached up and brushed her hair back behind her ears, grabbing her wand as she did so. She tapped both ears with it, and the other two were amazed to see the tips of her ears extend to sharp but delicate points. "I keep my ears hidden by a glamour," she explained as she reapplied said glamour. "It helps avoid any more awkwardness than is already there. Not to mention that those of a… _darker_ persuasion may want to render me down to potion ingredients."

Hermione stood up and walked around the table. She pulled the younger girl to her feet and into a warm embrace. "You shouldn't have to hide who you are," she said. "Hopefully one day you can show your true face to the world. If I have anything to do with it, you will."

"Me too," Harry said as he joined them. He paused, feeling awkward. He wanted to hug both girls but couldn't bring himself to move to do so. Years of abuse at the hands of his aunt, uncle, and cousin left him reluctant to have physical contact with people. Hermione was the only person with whom he felt safe enough to share a hug, and even then, he never initiated it.

Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Hermione opened her arm and pulled Harry into their embrace. Luna began sobbing in earnest, clutching at them both as if for dear life. Momentarily tense, Harry soon relaxed as he was able to move out of his own discomfort and reach out to help touch a lonely, hurting soul.

After several minutes, Luna calmed down enough to give the other two a watery smile. "Thank you so much," she said. "I can't tell you how much your offer of friendship means to me. I've always wanted to be friends with people I didn't have to hide myself from. It's only gotten worse since Mummy died four years ago."

"Oh, Luna," Hermione whispered, pulling her close again.

This time Harry did not hesitate as he wrapped his arms around both girls. He didn't have to say anything. He knew and understood the ache that comes with losing a parent, but he realized too that in some ways Luna's pain was even sharper than his own. He had lost his parents before he was old enough to remember them, so he really couldn't feel the sense of loss that she did, but on the other hand he couldn't help feeling a slight twinge of jealousy that Luna at least had memories of a loving mother.

"It's okay," Luna sniffled. "I mean, it still hurts, and I miss her, but I know she's in a better place and I've been able to accept it and move on. Daddy hasn't been the same since, though. He has two priorities in his life now, me and publishing the _Quibbler_. So long as he has us I think he'll be alright, but he doesn't embrace living like he used to. He's getting on with his life, but deep inside I think he's just waiting to join her again. The only time I see him like he used to be is when we go on our annual snorkack hunt."

The trio stood there silently for a few minutes, drawing comfort from each other, then went back to their respective seats, feeling much more at ease.

"Anyway," Luna continued, "Grandmum sent me a message earlier today. It didn't say much, just that there was an evil stirring, greater than anything that our world has faced in ages. She didn't give any details, only that it concerned the two of you. She wants to meet the three of us as soon as possible."

Harry traded an incredulous look with Hermione. Titania, the queen of all the faeries, wanted to meet with them, two regular fourth-year students? It sounded ridiculous, to be honest. Almost like Queen Elizabeth calling them in to consult on matters of state. But, she was a queen, albeit one they hadn't know existed until now, and both were sure that it would be wise to accept her request. "There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up," Harry suggested. "Perhaps we could meet then?"

"I'm sure that would be fine," Luna agreed. "I'll let Grandmum know immediately so she'll know to expect us. We can floo to my house and go see her from there." She stood up and started to go to the door.

"Luna," Hermione called from the couch, "would you like to join Harry and me for dinner?"

The blonde girl turned around, her eyes wide. "Really? You mean it?"

"Absolutely," Harry confirmed.

Luna squealed and clapped her hands. "I'd love to! I've never sat down for a meal with real friends before!"

Hermione's heart broke just a little more at her words, and Harry felt much the same. However, they both gave her a warm smile. "We'll see you down in the Great Hall, then."

As soon as the blonde Ravenclaw left, Hermione broke down in Harry's arms and wept. "My god, Harry! How can that poor girl be so cheerful?"

"I don't know," he said, holding her close. "She's special, though. I know we haven't known her but for a few minutes, but already I feel like I want to take care of her and protect her from everyone."

"Me too," the brunette sniffled. "I'm worried about Ron, though. He was so horrid to her earlier, for no reason at all that I could see! He treated her worse than he treats me, even." Suddenly realizing what she'd said, she clapped her hand over her mouth, giving Harry a fearful look. "I… I'm sorry, Harry. I know he's your best friend…"

Harry sighed. "I know, Hermione. You don't have to apologize. I must confess that I've been thinking about our friendship lately, and frankly I've been wondering… why."

She looked at him, confused. "Why what?"

"Why am I friends with him? Why am I so quick to jump on his side? Why am I afraid to get him upset at me? I don't understand any of it, Hermione. Especially… why do I not stand up to him for my dearest friend of all? The one who has always stood by me unwavering, the one who has never acted for anything but what was best for me, even when I failed to so much as thank her in return." He looked up at her, his own eyes watering, and her breath caught in her throat. "You've always pushed me to be my best, and I've never shown you the appreciation you deserve. Sure, Ron can be fun to goof around with, but you are the one who pushes me to succeed." He took a deep breath, never breaking eye contact with her. "And for you, I want to succeed," he whispered.

Hermione leaned back on the couch, utterly gobsmacked. "What… what are you saying, Harry?" In spite of herself, a tiny flame of hope burned deep inside, one she'd been aware of for a long time but had never had the courage to quite admit to.

"I'm sorry for taking you for granted these past few years. I'm especially sorry for my behaviour last year with that stupid Firebolt. I know that you had no malicious intent, you were just looking out for my safety. I didn't treat you like a friend should, even though you were only doing what a true friend would do. So, in addition to my apology, I want to thank you for caring about me like that."

She smiled through her tears, his words like a healing balm to her soul. "Oh, Harry," she said as she leaned forward and pulled him into her arms. "I appreciate all you said just now. I won't lie to you, it has been painful at times to be your friend. You can be quite the prat sometimes, but other times – most of the time, even – you are the most noble, selfless person I've ever seen. That's the Harry I lo…like so much, and that makes it all worthwhile." Her cheeks grew pink as she caught herself. She wasn't quite ready to admit that to him. Yet.

His eyes widened just a little as he caught her near-slip, but he decided to let it go for now. He honestly hadn't planned to share this much with her so soon, but the conversation with Luna had become so emotionally charged that this conversation seemed to just flow from it. He could feel his heart pounding so hard that he was almost sure that Hermione could hear it. Despite his nerves, he decided to push forward with his Gryffindor courage.

"I've thought a lot about you this summer, Hermione – about us. I know I haven't been the best friend to you that I could have been, but I want to change that. I want to be the friend for you that you've been for me. And… and maybe more," he continued, flushing.

Hermione's ears perked up. Did he mean… She quickly pushed the thought down, not daring to let her hopes get too high. "More?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

He sighed. "I'm taking a risk," he said, "and it scares the hell out of me. I don't ever want to lose your friendship – you're just too damn important to me. But if I'm not honest with my feelings, I know it will drive me spare and I'll probably do something really stupid that'll make me lose you anyway. So here it is – Hermione, would you do me the great honour of becoming my girlfriend?"

 _Yes yes yes!_ she screamed in her mind. Still, it wouldn't do to let herself get carried away. "Are you sure?" she asked, frowning. "I know there's a lot of other girls, all much prettier than me. I mean, you don't have to feel obligated to me or anything, I'll take care of you regardless. I know I'm not much to look at, and it won't hurt my feelings to see you with a prettier girl." Her heart wept with each word she spoke, knowing that she could be denying herself the boy she'd wanted for years, but she also knew that she couldn't be in any kind of relationship that wasn't built on the right reasons.

"Are you kidding, Mione? Have you looked in a mirror lately? You are gorgeous! Not to mention bloody brilliant and a heart of pure gold! Any bloke with a lick of sense would be honoured to be your boyfriend. I know I would."

She raised her eyebrow. "Mione?" she asked.

Harry looked down at his feet. "I thought it sounded cute," he said. "If you don't like it, though, I won't say it again."

She pretended to consider it, exulting inside at the sincerity of his words. "Well, it's not too bad," she said at length. "Certainly better than Herms." She shuddered for effect. "The thing is, only my boyfriend is allowed to call me Mione. So, if you really want to call me that, I guess the only way you can is to become my boyfriend."

He looked at her hopefully. "Does that mean…?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I would be honoured to be your girlfriend." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "And thank you once again for your words," she said. "I'm so used to being the ugly duckling that it may take some time for me to really accept that you look at me and see a beautiful swan."

"It's just the truth, Mione," Harry said. Feeling emboldened, he gently stroked her chin as he slowly leaned forward, giving her plenty of time to back away if she chose to. Her breath came in quick gasps as she realized his intent but backing off was the furthest thought from her mind. Their lips met softly for their first tentative kiss. It was a first for them both, and more wonderful than either could have possibly imagined.

They broke apart and gazed into each other's eyes, emerald green meeting chocolate brown. Their breathing was more ragged than usual, and their cheeks were flushed, but neither wanted to be the first to look away. Both wore identical silly grins, and both could recognize the sparkle of desire in the eyes of their partner.

As if they could read each other's mind, they leaned in at the same time for another kiss, this one more passionate than their first. Hermione whimpered as she parted her lips, touching the tip of her tongue ever so slightly against Harry's bottom lip. He responded by moving his own tongue forward to caress hers, inviting her into his mouth. They played back and forth, holding on to each other for dear life as they acknowledged the feelings that had steadily grown for the past three years. A warm aura of contentment swept over the both of them, as if they had both finally come home. At last they pulled apart once more, Harry gently biting her lower lip as they separated.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Hermione whispered, her eyes closed and her breathing heavy. Her entire body felt weak. Only Harry's firm grip around her waist gave her the confidence that she wouldn't collapse onto the couch.

Harry couldn't say anything but agreed with her one hundred percent. He lowered his arms, taking both of her hands in his own before leaning in once more to give her one last chaste kiss on her lips.

"We should go down to dinner," she said after she caught her breath. "Luna is probably wondering where we are."

Harry nodded and helped her to her feet. Hand in hand, they left the room, not noticing as the door faded back into the wall behind them.

Downstairs, they met Luna at the school's main entrance outside the Great Hall. As she saw them, Luna clapped her hands excitedly. "All of your wrackspurts are gone!" she said. "Granted, you didn't have near as many as Ronald Weasley, but now they're all gone! Does this mean you're a couple now?"

The new couple chuckled at the quirky blonde's exuberance. "Yes, we're a couple now," Harry volunteered.

"Oh good! I had a feeling about you, you know. I didn't want to say anything in hopes that you two would figure it out yourself. Don't worry, though, I definitely would have said something if the wrackspurts had begun an infestation. Believe me, they are _not_ easy to get rid of once that happens." Linking her arm through Hermione's, she joined them as they made their way into the Great Hall for dinner.

Most of the students had arrived, though it was still toward the beginning of the dinner hour. Several students eyed them curiously but otherwise said nothing. The Slytherin table in particular was more subdued than in years past, but with that killer on the loose targeting former Death Eaters, it was hardly surprising given the parentage of most of the Slytherins. Harry just couldn't find it in himself to care, though. They had terrorized the rest of magical Britain for so long, it was only fitting that someone had finally turned the tables on them. _And who the hell coined that ridiculous name anyway?_ he mused to himself. _Death Eaters. Sounds like a pretentious attempt to sound terrifying by someone with an atrophied imagination. It doesn't make a lick of sense, either. "What's for dinner tonight, honey?" "Oh, a nice warm slice of Death, my love." That sounds like something out of the Addams Family or something, not the most feared terrorist organization in the magical world in recent history! For crying out loud, Legions of Doom sounds more serious, and that's one of the most cliched names of the forces of an evil overlord ever!_ The trio found plenty of room at the end of the Gryffindor table furthest from the staff table and enjoyed a quiet meal together. The conversation was light-hearted as Harry and Hermione learned about Luna and she learned about them.

Unfortunately, their dinner was rudely interrupted. Luna was happily describing one of the expeditions she had taken with her father to find the elusive crumple-horned snorkack when a certain red-headed prat seated half-way down the table noticed her sitting with his two so-called best friends. "Oi, Loony!" he called out, spraying partially-chewed food particles onto those unfortunate enough to be sitting nearby. "You don't belong at our table. Go back to Ravenclaw where you belong!"

Harry slammed his fork down. "Goddammit, Ron! What the hell is your problem?" He fixed the other boy with a steely glare.

"Language," Hermione quietly nudged him, though she too fixed the redheaded boy with a frown.

Ron glared right back at them. "We don't want the likes of her at this table!" he said. "Nobody wants to hear about her stupid made-up animals!"

"I can go back to my table," Luna said quietly. "I don't want to be a problem to anyone."

Harry reached across his girlfriend and laid his hand on top of their new friend's. "Please don't, Luna," he said. "We'd like you to stay here with us."

Hermione slipped her arm around the blonde Ravenclaw's shoulders. "For your information, _Ronald_ , Harry and I invited her to join us. We've found that we like her company, and despite having known her for only a couple of hours I can say that she is a much more interesting, not to mention _intelligent_ conversationalist than _you_ are," she snapped. "As far as _your_ conversation is concerned, on the other hand, I quite frankly find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables."

Ron flushed as several other students began giggling. He didn't understand what the bushy-haired brunette was saying, but he was pretty sure it wasn't complementary.

"She just said that most of your talking is like the braying of a donkey," Harry supplied helpfully.

The redhead's mouth fell open in indignation, though all could tell that he was still trying to figure out Hermione's words and how they related to what Harry said. The resulting expression on his face was priceless.

Luna, recognizing Hermione's quotation of Shakespeare, couldn't help supplying one of her own. "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!" The giggles of their classmates turned into outright laughter while Hermione's eyes lit up in appreciation of Luna's familiarity with classic literature.

"Anyway, Ronald Weasley, Luna is always welcome to eat with us. If you don't like that, then feel free to eat elsewhere. As a matter of fact, _please_ go eat elsewhere. Your table manners could gag a maggot."

Several of their housemates snickered at her remark, while others nodded in agreement, their disgust at Ron's eating habits evident. His ears blazed red as a hateful scowl twisted his face. "So that's what you really think, is it Herms? You think that just because you've cozied up to the Boy-Who-Lived and a proper pureblood family that you can get away with saying whatever you want? Well, nobody wants you around either, with your nagging and reading and homework and all that! So you and Loony can just go somewhere else and leave the rest of us alone!" He shook his head regretfully. "Too bad that troll first year missed."

There was a collective gasp from everyone in earshot at his words. Harry watched in anger as Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She would have bolted from the Great Hall if it wasn't for Harry's strong grip on her hand. She found her role with Luna suddenly reversed as the younger Ravenclaw put her arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

Harry turned to Ron, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You're way out of line, Weasley," he said, his voice low and frigid.

Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "You're supposed to be my best mate, Harry! And you're siding with Loony and a mud—" He broke off as he found himself staring at Harry's wand, pointed directly at his head.

"Don't you even think of finishing that disgusting word," Harry growled. "Consider our friendship terminated. I do not associate with people who think that words like that are acceptable, especially when directed at my girlfriend."

Ron's face purpled. " _Girlfriend_?" he bellowed, spittle flying.

A slight, choking sob went almost unnoticed as Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger third-year sister, dropped her fork and fled the Great Hall, tears streaming down her cheeks. At the same time, their head of house, Professor Minerva McGonagall, appeared behind them. "Mr. Weasley!" she snapped. "What is the meaning for your outburst? And why is your wand drawn, Mr. Potter?"

Ron sat there, gaping like a landed fish. Giving his former friend a disgusted look, Harry explained, "Hermione and I invited Luna to join us for dinner, which we were enjoying until Weasley had to open his hole and insult Luna, then try to force her to leave. We explained that she was our guest, and he started verbally abusing Hermione, even saying that he wished the troll our first year had killed her and calling her a name only the likes of Malfoy would use. At that point I drew my wand and didn't let him finish."

Their housemates confirmed that this was indeed the gist of what happened. The professor turned her sharp gaze to Ron, who visibly wilted. "Loony is a Ravenclaw," he muttered, his face sullen. "She's supposed to sit at her table, not ours. And Herms needs to learn to respect her betters. Just because Potter feels sorry for her enough to call her his girlfriend doesn't mean she has any right to insult a pureblood."

"Indeed," McGonagall said, her voice frosty. She fixed him with a steely gaze. "In the first place, there is no rule saying that all meals must be taken at one's house table, other than special feast days, so Miss Lovegood is more than welcome to sit at our table any other time. In the second, your marks compared to Miss Granger's are evidence enough that pureblood superiority is sheer nonsense, let alone grounds for demanding respect. Though I am curious as to her insult?"

"It's not an insult if it's true, Professor," Dean Thomas spoke up. "She just made an observation of Ron's manners that he didn't like."

"She said that his talking sounded like a donkey," Lavender Brown giggled.

"Yeah, and that his manners would gag a maggot," Seamus Finnegan laughed.

"Crude, but apt," McGonagall sighed. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your disgusting attitude, Mr. Weasley, and another five for drawing your wand on a fellow student, Mr. Potter. Five points from you, Miss Granger, for trading insults with a fellow student. Ten points apiece to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, and ten to Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood, for reaching across house lines to build friendships. This is certainly behaviour that we want to encourage. And another ten points each, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, for standing up for your friends. Mr. Weasley, I will meet with you in my office after dinner where we will further discuss your attitude." With that she turned to go back to her seat at the head table. "Oh, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger?" she said, looking back. "Congratulations."

Harry and Hermione blushed as they turned back to a smiling Luna Lovegood and her entertaining stories from the snorkack hunt. Ron slammed his utensils down and glowered for the rest of the meal, but thankfully kept his mouth shut as everyone else resumed eating.

As they left the Great Hall, Luna turned to her two new friends. "Thank you so much," she said, beaming. "Despite Ronald's interruption, that was the most enjoyable meal I've had since starting here."

The two Gryffindors as one reached out and took her hands, joining all three in a circle. "You heard Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "Why don't you start taking all your meals with us that you can? We'd love to have you join us."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "I loved your stories," she said, "and I'm sure Harry enjoyed them as well as I did."

Luna smiled and leaned toward the bushy-haired brunette. "You know, I really don't know if there is such a thing as a crumple-horned snorkack," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "It would be lovely if there is, I'm sure, but the hunt itself is where all the fun is, don't you think?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't considered that before. What some may dismiss as a pointless quest for a fanciful beast seemed to be a wonderful bonding experience for Luna and her father, allowing them to explore the world together and no doubt see amazing things. All of a sudden, the quirky Ravenclaw didn't seem quite so flighty. "I see," she said, her voice thoughtful.

The blonde girl suddenly looked nervous. "Would… would you two like to join us on our hunt next summer?" she asked. Her words were tentative, and the two older teens could hear the hope mixed with fear in her voice.

Hermione gave the younger girl a warm smile. "I would love to, Luna," she said. "Whether there is such a beast or not, the expedition _does_ sound quite fun."

A shadow, however, passed over Harry's face. "Believe me, I'd like nothing more," he said bitterly. "I'm sure, though, that Dumbledore in his _infinite_ fucking wisdom will insist that I stay with the Dursleys."

"Language," Hermione began, but stopped. Dropping Luna's hand, she threw her arms around her new boyfriend, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry, Harry. If anyone has earned the right to swear, you have. Fred and George told me about the bars on your window before second year. I'd swear too if my parents imprisoned me in my own room."

He stroked her hair. "You don't know the half of it, Mione," he whispered. The two girls could hear the pain and despair in his voice, and Luna joined the embrace.

"What have they done to you, love?" Hermione asked, her voice aching.

He shook his head. "Not now, please," he said. "I promise I'll tell you – both of you – and soon. But not here and not now, please." His girlfriend nodded as Luna tightened her arms around them both.

"Don't worry, Harry," she said, her wide, silver eyes gazing up at his. "I have a feeling next summer is going to be very different. I hope that you'll be able to join us then."

***DIM***

Vincent Crabbe Senior exited Borgin and Burkes, adjusting the hood of his cloak as he scowled at the refuse of Knockturn Alley. Borgin had been surprisingly unhelpful, despite his well-known reluctance to anger people like Crabbe and his… _associates._ The shopkeeper had no information whatsoever on who the unknown assassin might be, not even a description. The body count was up to an even dozen, now. Each victim was a former Death Eater, and each was left displayed in public with their face and dark mark visible and intact.

The same could not be said for the rest of their bodies.

Each had obviously died in agony, and though he would never admit it, Crabbe often awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from horrific nightmares. By Mordred, he still felt like puking every time he remembered finding the body of his friend Goyle nailed up. His back had been cut open with his ribs severed at the spine before being spread out like wings in that vicious Norse punishment called the blood eagle. And like every other victim, the word _Justice_ was prominently displayed.

He left Knockturn Alley and made his way over to where another hooded figure waited near the steps of Gringotts Bank. "Nott," he greeted.

"Crabbe," came the reply. "Any word?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Not even a description."

"Shit."

The two men turned and began walking in silence to the apparation point of Diagon Alley, brushing past a hooded and cloaked figure as they went. The figure turned and stared after them with hate-filled eyes before stepping aside and blending into the shadows.

Crabbe and Nott had barely taken five steps when the sky grew dark overhead and several of the bystanders began screaming. Looking up, the last thing Crabbe saw was a colossal disembodied fist, seemingly made from the night made solid, plummeting from the dark storm clouds like the hand of a vengeful deity. A moment later he and Nott were both crushed into bloody paste with a single blow. The force of the impact rocked the alley and was accompanied by a flash of light. When the flare and the shadowy fist dissipated, the only things left behind were the splattered bodies of the two former Death Eaters and the word _Justice_ burned into the cobblestones beside them.


	3. The Faerie Queen

The following Saturday dawned crisp and clear with a few scattered clouds overhead and a steady breeze. A lingering morning mist blanketed the Black Lake, but the mostly clear skies, despite the pleasant cool of the early October Scottish Highlands, indicated that the mist would be largely burned off by early afternoon. After breakfast was over, excited students filed out of the castle and made their way to the carriages waiting to take them down to Hogsmeade. Luna joined her two friends, both of whom were elated to see that she had shoes on both feet, and that they were the correct ones as well. She had explained to them a few days ago about some of the tricks that the nargles played on her, such as sometimes hiding only her left shoes, or her right shoes, forcing her to wear a wrong one on one foot or go barefoot. Going barefoot was generally not a problem, but during the late autumn and winter months it was worse than enduring the pain of wearing a shoe on the wrong foot. It sounded to the two Gryffindors more like the cruel pranks of housemates than the playful teasing of invisible creatures, but all her missing items, clothing, and school supplies had mysteriously reappeared soon after Harry and Hermione had defended her presence at their table in the Great Hall. They weren't quite sure what to make of that, but so long as Luna was happy and not being bothered they were satisfied. They did exhort her to let them know if the nargles struck again, though. She agreed, and her flighty countenance dropped for just a moment, revealing the perceptive eyes and razor-sharp mind of her true self as she whispered her thanks.

As they prepared to board one of the carriages, Luna broke away for a moment. Going to the front of the carriage, she began to make motions in the air as if she was petting some kind of animal. "What are you doing, Luna?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Just saying hello to the thestrals," Luna answered.

"What's a thestral?"

"It's like a horse, but with wings. They're invisible to most people, unless you've seen someone die." She smiled at her sceptical friend. "Come here and pet one. They might look fierce, that is if you could see them, but they're really rather nice."

Hermione hesitantly joined her blonde friend, closely followed by Harry. Luna took Hermione's hand and gently placed it on the side of the gaunt, horse-like creature. Hermione was surprised to sense what felt like smooth, slick skin over a skeletal frame even though she couldn't see anything standing there. "Wow," she breathed.

Luna smiled again. "There is a lot more to this amazing world than what we can see, hear, feel, smell, and taste," she said in her gentle voice. "Those of us who are very fortunate get to experience some of those things that most people never will. The world of magic is like that, in a way, compared to the world of non-magicals. And just as there are things we see every day that non-magicals never will, there are layers and worlds beyond what we in the magical realm can sense. Some are so beautiful that it's painful, while others are nightmares beyond comprehension, but all are magnificent in their own right."

The two Gryffindors looked at their friend in wonder. "Thanks for showing this to us, Luna," Hermione said.

"I'm glad you're our friend," Harry agreed as he pet the thestral. "I don't know anyone else who would have been able to explain that like you did. It actually makes the world seem more, well, magical."

Luna's cheeks turned pink as she blushed. "Thank you both for keeping an open mind," she said. "It's hard, sometimes, seeing some of the wonders I do and not being able to share them with anyone because they're too blind to see. And rather than take a chance that the world is bigger than they perceive, they prefer to ridicule me and try to shut me up instead so they can remain in their comfortable, blind ignorance."

Harry turned his head to the side and coughed, though his cough sounded suspiciously like, "Ron!"

The two girls giggled and took his hands as he helped them up into the carriage. Their former friend had become a royal pain in the arse over the past week. Something McGonagall had said to him must have made an impression, as he had managed to keep his mouth shut for the most part, but he still cast hateful glares at them every time he saw them. The boy in question, along with his downcast sister, actually passed by as they climbed into the carriage. He stalked past them toward another empty carriage, muttering something about "backstabbing traitors" and "scarlet women." Harry was about to say something when Hermione burst out laughing. "Seriously, Ronald?" she mocked. " _Scarlet women?_ Who the hell even says that anymore? I'm pretty sure that… _insult_ , if you really want to call it that, went out of style about the same time ragtime music did."

Ron had no idea what ragtime music was or when it went out of style but judging from Hermione's tone he suspected that it was a long time ago. Her mockery, at least, was unmistakable. "If you think your stupid muggle world is so much better than ours, then why don't you just go back?" he snapped as his ears turned red.

She gave a very unladylike snort. "You know, every year I've been here I've asked myself that same question more and more, and every year it gets harder and harder to answer. Right now, I can think of only two reasons that I'd bother to keep putting up with all the backwards nonsense and other assorted bullshit I keep running into." The warm smile she gave Harry and Luna left no doubt as to her reasons.

"Me too," Harry said. "If it wasn't for you two girls, I'm pretty sure I'd be willing to tell this whole fucking school to sod off, though getting away from the bloody Dursleys certainly is a nice bonus."

Ron gawked at Harry as Ginny inexplicably burst into tears and dragged her brother away. "What the hell's her problem?" Harry asked.

"Her wrackspurts are almost as bad as Ronald's," Luna replied. "She's wanted to marry the Boy-Who-Lived ever since she was a little girl."

"Fucking brilliant," Harry scowled. "Mione, why don't we skip going to the Weasleys next summer? I know I could do without the drama, and I'm sure you could too."

Hermione shuddered as she thought about spending several weeks with a boy who'd all but said he wished she was dead and a girl that was jealous of her spot in Harry's life. "I think I'd rather have my parents give me a root canal every day over summer than go through that," she agreed.

A few minutes later the carriages moved out and began the drive down to Hogsmeade. The trio didn't say much on the drive, preferring instead to enjoy a companionable silence. Harry took Hermione's hand, absently rubbing his thumb across her knuckles as he looked out the carriage window. He never got tired of the beautiful scenery surrounding Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, from the Black Lake on their left to the mysterious Forbidden Forest on the right. It wasn't a terribly long journey – the drive to the front gates of Hogwarts accounted for a third of the total length – but the impact of humans on the rolling Scottish moors was minimal. There was virtually no sign of civilization until they skirted the hill upon which sat the Shrieking Shack, but on the other side the picturesque village of Hogsmeade, nestled up against the protective mountain range to the southwest, suddenly appeared and the short journey was over.

Much like Hogwarts itself, the magical village was a bit of a throwback to an earlier time. Quaint shops and homes lined cobblestone streets, and there wasn't a powerline or automobile to be seen. Though definitely manmade, the town did not give the appearance of encroaching upon the highlands in the slightest. Rather, it seemed to be constructed in harmony with nature.

After helping the girls down from the carriage, Luna led the way to the Three Broomsticks Inn. The inn was a warm, friendly place that served good food and drink. It was one of the most popular establishments in Hogsmeade with both the students and staff of Hogwarts. The three teens ordered warm butterbeers, a perfect counterpoint to the delightfully chilly morning, and enjoyed their beverages before asking Madam Rosmerta, the proprietor, permission to use her floo.

"My house is called the Rookery," Luna told the others before she grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace. "The Rookery!" she called before stepping into the green flames and disappearing.

"You go first and get clear," Harry told Hermione. "I don't want to knock you over when I come out."

She gave him a quick kiss and repeated Luna's address.

Harry waited a few moments after his girlfriend disappeared before doing likewise, giving the girls plenty of time to clear the landing zone. Sure enough, he came shooting out of the Lovegood's fireplace, stumbling over his feet before going sprawling in the middle of a small, circular room that seemed to double as a kitchen and a dining room. "I hate magical travel," he muttered.

Hermione smirked as she and Luna helped him to his feet. "Except for brooms, you mean."

"Except for brooms," he agreed.

"As spectacular as you are on a broom, I would imagine that you'd have to be terrible at the other means of magical transportation just to balance things out," she teased.

"Right," he groused, brushing the soot off his clothes.

Luna, meanwhile, traipsed over to the spiral staircase off to one side of the room and went up to the next floor, where her father's office and workspace was. "Hi, Daddy!" she called.

"Well, hello Moonbeam," he answered. Xenophilius Lovegood was a tall man with long, blond hair the same pale shade as his daughter's. Even when holding an in-depth conversation, there was a constant look in his eyes that suggested that his thoughts were a thousand miles away, not to mention an underlying aura of sorrow that shadowed everything he did. "I thought you were at Hogwarts?"

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, Daddy. Grandmum wants to speak to me and my two friends and we came here so we can go see her."

"Okay then. Who are your friends?"

"Harry Potter and his girlfriend Hermione Granger. Their auras match perfectly, by the way."

"Good on them. It's always wonderful to see perfect couples, isn't it? Shall I set tea on for when you get back?"

"Please. It's really good to see you!" She crossed the cluttered office and threw her arms around her father. "I've missed you terribly, but with my new friends this is already the best year ever!"

"I'm glad to hear that, Moonbeam," he said with a warm smile. "Now, shoo. You don't want to keep your Grandmum waiting, and the _Quibbler_ isn't going to write itself. Tea will be ready when you get back, and you can introduce me to your friends then."

"Thanks, Daddy! I love you!"

"I love you too, Moonbeam. I love you too." He gave his beloved daughter a melancholy smile as she skipped back down the stairs to the ground floor.

"Come on, you two!" she called out to her two friends as she breezed past and opened the front door. Smiling at their energetic friend, the young couple followed.

Luna led the other two down the front steps and off the weathered path leading to a low, broken gate. Her winding path led them through an orchard of small trees growing strange orange fruit shaped like radishes – not unlike her earrings – except that instead of hanging down from the trees, they were hanging _up_ , as if gravity itself was personally reversed for each fruit. "These are dirigible plums," Luna explained. "Come on!" The orchard curved around her house, which was a curious black tower vaguely resembling the rook of a chess set, and down the hill behind the house. At the bottom of the hill was a pond with a small island in the middle. Flat stepping stones almost even with the crystal-clear water led from the shore to the island, where grew a mighty oak tree, surrounded by several smaller ash trees and gnarled hawthorn trees. A small megalithic circle was built from bluestone at the base of the oak.

The blonde Ravenclaw skipped across the stepping stones, followed by her two friends. Pausing outside the stone circle, she waited for them to catch up. "Now, the only way this will work is if you're holding my hands," she said as she held hers out to either side as she gazed up at the ancient oak. "When we step inside the stones, we will be taken to the Otherworld where Grandmum will meet us. I can cross over any time because I'm half-fae, but the only way you two can cross over is if you're in contact with me when I go. Any questions?"

Harry and Hermione both shook their heads as they each took one of Luna's proffered hands. Both felt a little nervous but they trusted Luna. Hearts pounding, they stepped into the stone circle with her.

The transition was almost unnoticeable. Unlike the violent wrenching and squeezing of portkeys and apparation, the teens felt no discernible movement. Instead, the grove and pond faded away as other unfamiliar trees faded into view. The circle of standing stones, however, remained constant. Bright sunlight filtered down through golden leaves far overhead as barely-discernible gold and silver faerie lights flickered and danced in the shadowy boughs of the tall, smooth trees. Each of the massive silvery trunks would require a score of people to encircle it, and the golden canopy was easily higher than the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. An overwhelming feeling of peace and contentment swept through the young people as all their cares, worries, and burdens seemed to disappear.

Harry looked around in awe. Never had he imagined such beauty! Here was a place beyond the reach of Voldemort's followers, beyond the reach of the Dursleys, beyond the reach of any who would harm him. Here was a place where he would never have to fear anyone or anything ever again. He glanced at his girlfriend, who had tears of joy running unchecked down her cheeks as she gazed at the magical realm in wonder.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Luna whispered. "I always love coming here."

Hermione wrapped her arms around the younger girl. "Thank you so much for bringing us here," she wept. "I never thought such a place could exist!"

"Welcome, children," a stunning, musical voice intoned. The trio immediately straightened themselves and turned around to see the newcomer.

She was by far the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen, a beauty so pure and otherworldly that it was almost painful to witness. He was only distantly aware of her flowing, white-blonde hair and the diaphanous gown she wore. No, it was her eyes he saw and was captivated by – glittering blue sapphires against pale white skin that seemed to peer into his very soul. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that her eyes widened in surprise as they met his own. A moment later, her countenance was as serene as it was before, regal and backed with unquestionable sovereign authority. Her very existence commanded his reverence. He fell to his knees as Hermione did likewise beside him.

Luna, however, ran up to the lady, her arms outstretched. "Grandmum!" she squealed. She threw herself into the woman's arms, who laughed delightedly as she hugged her granddaughter close.

"My little Isilmë," said the woman who could only be Titania herself. "It warms my heart to see you again, as always." She turned her gaze to the two kneeling teens. "And you must be Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Thank you for answering my summons as promptly as you have."

"You… You're welcome, your majesty," Harry stammered. He wasn't sure what the protocol was for speaking with the queen of all faeries and hoped he didn't bollix it up.

A quiet laugh escaped Titania's lips. "Rise, children. You needn't stand on ceremony here, at least for now. There is too much to discuss, too much to do, and not enough time to waste on empty protocol. Feel free to call me Titania while we are in private. Now, please follow me."

The two Gryffindors rose to their feet and, hand in hand, followed Titania and Luna. The queen glided across the soft grass, leading the trio past ornately-carved stairways that wound around the smooth, silvery tree trunks to equally gorgeous white platforms high overhead, until they reached a large clearing. A grassy mound rose high in the middle of the clearing, a ring of strange, leafless white trees encircling another ring of the giant silver trees with pale gold leaves. Inside the inner ring, the mound was covered with small white and yellow flowers, again of a species neither of the Gryffindors had ever seen before. At the top of the hill a smaller mound about the size of an adult human emerged from the sea of flowers, covered only with vibrant green grass.

Titania took a seat amongst the flowers a good way from the small mound and gestured for the teens to join her. "I'm sure you are wondering why I asked you to meet with me," she began. "At the risk of sounding melodramatic, there is a situation brewing that could possibly spell the end of your world, as well as mine. The three of you are uniquely situated to hold off that disaster." She paused, allowing the three teens to recover from that news.

"Voldemort," Harry said in a rueful voice. It always came back to Voldemort, at least where Harry Potter was concerned.

Titania, however, shook her head. "Hardly," she said. "He is but the most recent in a long line of so-called dark wizards with delusions of grandeur, each making as outlandish claims as their predecessor. No, I've seen hundreds of aspiring _Dark Lords_ through the centuries, most of whom were more terrible by far than Tom Marvolo Riddle. And do you know what they each have in common?" she asked, giving Harry a piercing look.

He shook his head. "What's that?" he said.

"They're all dead, their ashes scattered to the winds, their legacies all but forgotten. Each one brought down not only by the actions of brave souls who dared to resist, but by their own hubris. Each one terrorized their realm for a few years before their world came crashing down around them, and now only the most recent are remembered. In a few generations, none but the scholars will recall their names or their deeds. No, that to which I refer goes back much farther in time." Her face took on a haunted mask as she continued.

"This world is billions of years old," she said. "Epochs before the first humans were created from the dust of the earth, there were already thriving civilizations of beings, mortal and immortal alike, creatures of terrible beauty as well as those of horrific nightmare. These civilizations spanned the stars and beyond, to the furthest reaches of this universe. Light and dark were but vague notions at best, as were order and chaos. These were times of raw, primordial energy in a universe as vast and terrible as it was young and spectacular, and some of these nameless beings descended from the stars and made their homes on our world. Vast cities were constructed to the glory of these beings, and they ruled through fear with fists of iron, enslaving all those races they deemed inferior. Some embraced their roles as servitor races and gained a measure of power in their own right so long as they remembered their places. They too were feared by those who would live free, but none were as terrible as their alien gods.

"It was during these times that Magic itself was made manifest on our world in all those you know today as the fae. At that time we were united in one cause, namely, to push back the eldritch creatures and either destroy them or banish them to the stars from whence they came. We were largely successful, but the price was greater than we could really afford." Her voice grew heavy as the teens listened, enthralled with her story. "The world was broken beyond what we could endure, and so we were forced to retreat behind the Veil until such time as the land could heal itself and spring forth with life once again – but this time it would be life natural to this world, free from the taint of the _yáramo_."

The queen stood and spread her arms wide. "This realm you see is connected to your world but is also one in which pure magic flows freely. It is from here that the trickle of power that you use flows, and it is from here that we watch your world and, when needed, can offer careful guidance."

Hermione raised a hesitant hand. "Please forgive me if this is impertinent," she said, "but if you can see what all is happening, like all the dark lords you mentioned, why don't you help us fight them?"

Titania gave her a fond smile. "That is a good question, Hermione Granger. The simple answer is, we are bound by treaty to not directly interfere with your world, and it is for this same reason that I have summoned you here rather than to take matters into my own hands and solve the problem. Understand that in the millennia following our victory against the _yáramo_ we became divided in purpose. There were those of us who wanted to nurture and grow the newly cleansed world, to guide it to its ultimate destiny, but there were also those who wanted to rule it and subjugate it to their own ends. This went beyond a simple difference of opinion, and our realm was torn asunder into what we now call the Seelie and the Unseelie Courts. After centuries of warfare, primarily here in the Otherworld but often spilling over into the mortal realm, it was finally decided and sealed by magic for both sides to retreat from your world, leaving you to determine your own destiny with minimal interference from us. If one of us openly breaches the treaty, then the other will invade, opposing everything the other supports. The resulting chaos would surely destroy your world, magical and mundane alike."

"So why would you risk breaking the treaty by requesting a meeting with us?" Harry wanted to know.

The older woman sighed. "Unfortunately, our hand has been forced. And no, the Unseelie will not interfere, not with this – so long as we remain discreet. Even so, there is little I can do other than share information and offer guidance. In days not long past, as little as I do here now would have been enough for them to release Herne and his hunters for a time, yet we have been granted a reprieve this once." She once more took her seat, and the three teens could sense the weight of the ages upon her shoulders.

"It should hardly come as a surprise that your method of spellcasting is but one of many in this world," the queen continued. "What sets your society apart is that the leaders have retreated from the rest of the world, hidden behind statutes and regulations designed to give a select few power over the many. Your society simultaneously gathers together as many of those who have the gift inborn, while dismissing all without the gift. They proceed to rank the gifted in accordance with familial status rather than aptitude, all the while forcing their subjects to use wands as the means of manifesting their art instead of teaching them to draw forth their own power from within. Your average witch or wizard is entirely dependent on their wand to cast magic, and each wand is easily tracked by your Ministry. You should know, incidentally, that the Ministry trace is not removed when you turn seventeen – your name is simply moved to the list of approved magic-users. Make no mistake, your Ministry still watches you. But I digress.

"In addition to the various magical races you're familiar with, there are other magical traditions among the humans around the world. Few of them use wands like your people do, though most are known to your International Confederation of Wizards. There are several traditions, though, that yet remain unknown to your world, for the chief reason that they are almost exclusive to what your society condescendingly refers to as _Muggles_." Titania's distaste for the word was evident.

Hermione was dumbfounded. "Are you saying that there are legitimate schools of magic within the mundane world?" she asked. "I thought the Ministry locates all people capable of performing magic and brings them to Hogwarts when they are of age."

"They locate all people with the gift _inborn_ ," Titania corrected. "With the proper teaching, though, _anyone_ can learn to cast a spell, whether they have the gift or not. It may take longer for those without the gift to learn how to do so, and they may not be, strictly speaking, using forms of magic with which you are familiar. And this, in a way, leads us to our current problem.

"Over the last thousand years or two, there have been many attempts by mundane scholars of the arcane to tap into the force we know as Magic. Many attempts ended, predictably enough, in disaster. Often nothing at all would occur, but frequent channelling of unknown powers with unforeseen and unintended consequences was known to take place. And on occasion, contact was made with forces and beings that should have been left alone, pacts were sworn and new spells were learned that called the names of these dark beings – those same _yáramo_ that we fae fought and banished so long ago.

"We destroyed their cities with fire and flood, yet I am certain that ruins may yet be found in the secluded areas of the world as well as the depths of the seas. It was inevitable, I suppose, that a few artefacts from those nightmare ages would find their way from those ruins and into the hands of collectors and scholars around the world. The study of those same artefacts led invariably into madness and eventually death, but not before notes were taken and compiled into various folios and tomes. It is folly to even read them, as the words themselves will sink into the reader's brain and drive him or her to madness."

Harry watched Hermione grow pale at Titania's words. He knew that the thought that there were books in the world that she _shouldn't_ read disturbed her very soul. Knowing full well his beloved's thirst for knowledge, he would have smiled had the conversation not been so serious.

"We have taken steps to limit even the knowledge of these books to the nonmagical world," Titania continued. "I would see them all destroyed if I could, but the steps necessary to do so would result in our treaty with the Unseelie being broken. These books are dangerous enough in the hands of the nonmagicals. I cannot tell you of the disasters that have arisen due to the nonmagicals meddling with powers beyond their understanding. The consequences of even an average witch or wizard utilizing the knowledge contained within those pages would be unimaginable. It would not take long at all to attract the attention of beings whom this world would be much better off escaping their notice."

"Is that what happened then?" Harry asked. "Did someone from the magical world get one of these books and start using it?"

Titania sighed. "That's exactly what happened. And not just any book either, but the worst of the lot: a vile work called the Necronomicon."

Though none had heard of such a book, each of the teens felt a cold shiver pass down their spine at the mention of its name.

"Unfortunately," the queen continued, "I cannot say much more in that regard, other than the fact that this is the same person who is killing off the self-proclaimed dark lord's followers. We have gifted seers in our realm, yet the true identity of this person remains hidden to us. The only thing we have been able to discern is that whoever it is has a connection to you, Harry," she said, fixing her gaze on the young man. "You and you alone are in the position to reach this person. Trust your heart." Her gaze turned next to the bushy-haired brunette. "Hermione, you must seek the Templar treasure. Trust your mind." Finally, she faced her granddaughter. "And my precious Isilmë, you will be the one to find this person when the time is right. Trust your vision." She rose again to her feet and addressed all three. "Besides these words, the only aid I can give you is the removal of the Trace from your wands. To fulfil this quest, you will need to be able to use your magic whenever and wherever you need without further interference from your _Ministry_." The scorn in her voice clearly showed her opinion of Britain's Ministry of Magic. She waved her hand with apparent negligence, but each of the teens' wands glowed briefly as the three Traces were dispelled. "I apologize from the bottom of my heart for dropping all of this upon you. In a just and fair world, you would have nothing more to worry about than the marks on your exams. You should not have to concern yourselves with problems of this magnitude; however, due to the actions of several key players in your world you have been forced to this point. I cannot make you fulfil this quest, nor can I yet give you aid beyond that which I have already given. The future, past, and present alike is covered in shadow which our seers cannot easily penetrate. I would suggest that you find people whom you can trust, but at the same time be wary – not everyone who professes to be your friend has your best interests at heart. For my part, I will attempt to gain clarity. Our seers are still at work, looking for any glimpse of clairvoyance that may help us. In the meantime, you must learn as much as you can, and remember you are preparing for battle. Take appropriate time to rest and even relax, but do not let anything else distract you from this quest. I truly wish I could give you more direct aid than what I have, but our enemies will not stand for it, at least for now. And with what is coming, we cannot afford to fight them as well." With those words, Titania approached the teens and kissed each on the forehead. She gave them all a warm, gentle smile before she faded from view.

Luna led the way back to the standing stones, all three in thoughtful silence. Taking the hands of her two friends, she led them from the golden realm back to the grove down the hill from the Rookery. After a pleasant afternoon tea with Xenophilius Lovegood, the trio returned to Hogsmeade in time to catch the carriages back to school.

***DIM***

In the middle of the North Sea, off the coast of Scotland and roughly twenty-five miles due east of Fife Ness and fifty miles south-southeast of Aberdeen, lay a bleak, storm-wracked island. A single structure stood on the barren rocky soil: a tall, iron-clad fortress. Even in the daytime, a permanent damp, chilly gloom hung over the entire island. The dreary desolation was further enhanced by the presence of floating, skeletal beings shrouded in tattered, hooded robes. This was the prison of magical Britain, the infamous island of Azkaban. The only living souls on the island, if they could be said to be living, were the inmates of the wretched place. None knew whether the dementors, the terrifying guards of Azkaban, could be classified as living or not. Only the aurors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement came to the island, and then only long enough to transfer a prisoner to the care of the dementors. On rare occasions, the Minister for Magic was supposed to conduct an inspection of the island in order to confirm its security.

To date, only one person was known to have escaped the hellish prison. That person was Sirius Orion Black, thought by most of the magical community of Britain to have been the man who betrayed James and Lily Potter to Lord Voldemort, resulting in one Harry James Potter becoming an orphan. Not that most of magical Britain really paid much attention to the fact that young Harry had lost his parents to a psychotic murderer. No, they were too wrapped up in the notion that "The-Boy-Who-Lived" had somehow destroyed "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" and saved them all – despite the fact that Harry was only fifteen months old at the time, not to mention the fact that of all the people who were known to be physically present at the famous event, the only one who survived was that same fifteen-month-old boy.

None of that mattered to the hooded and cloaked figure staring in the direction of the barren island from the chilly, rocky shores of Fife Ness. All that mattered was that some of the worst Death Eaters of all were imprisoned behind the impenetrable walls of Azkaban. Hidden as it was behind the horizon, the hunter could nevertheless feel the darkness emanating from the prison.

Although the short, squat lighthouse the desolate point was known for was less than a hundred feet behind, none of the people working there knew that the hunter was standing there due to the Notice-Me-Not runes that were woven into the very fabric of the cloak with thread of gold. While the runes were of limited use against true magicals, they were fool-proof against nonmagicals.

The hunter knew that the prison was warded against apparation, portkeys, and other known forms of magical travel, but likewise knew that a shadowjump over so great a distance across open water was inadvisable. As the evening shadows started to lengthen, the unseen hunter transfigured a rock into a small skiff and climbed in. After carving and empowering a few runes into the gunwale to preserve its transfigured state, the hunter launched the small boat across the water, propelling it with magic.

After almost an hour of travel, the island came into sight. The temperature dropped even further soon thereafter as the combined effects of so many dementors became evident. The hunter made a gesture and a shadowy globe of translucent black energy sprang into view, completely enclosing the island and all its inhabitants – including the dementors. Another gesture saw the eldritch sphere grow smaller, crowding the nightmare guardians against the iron walls of the desolate prison-fortress. The hunter's hands came together then spread apart vertically, and the sphere turned into a cylinder.

As the hunter stepped foot onto the rocky island, the dementors screamed their rage but were otherwise unable to do anything about the trespass. They howled and beat impotently against the shadowy cylinder while the cloaked figure began casting a long, intricate spell. A swirling, mottled disc grew out at the top of the cylinder, spreading to each edge and filling the top completely. Another incantation turned the shadow energy as black and as solid as the night itself. A final arcane word opened the newly-created portal inside the top of the cylinder.

Despite the opacity of the shadow energy, blinding light burst forth as superheated plasma directly from the surface of the sun poured into the cylinder, down onto Azkaban prison and the dementors. All within the cylinder were instantly vaporized. A fraction of a second later, the portal closed.

The hunter leapt back into the transfigured skiff as all the rock on the island was already too hot to walk upon. Steam rose from the surface of the frigid waters, especially from where the sea rushed in to fill the hollowed-out crater and sheer, glowing walls that alone remained where the infamous prison once stood. After leaving the standard message, the weary hunter took the boat back across the water to Fife Ness, staggered out onto the rocks, and banished the vessel. Not wanting to risk apparating in a magically exhausted condition, the hunter activated a portkey instead. Upon reaching the safe house, the hunter collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed. The act of trying to contain the power of the sun took a lot more energy than anticipated. Food could wait; rest was more important.

By the time that stunned aurors discovered that Azkaban had been utterly destroyed, along with the entire population of dementors as well as some of the most notorious Death Eaters from Voldemort's war, the hunter had long since fallen asleep. All that remained was the word "Justice" burned into the rock adjacent to the sheared-off cliff where the prison had once stood.


	4. Contracts and Revelations

Hermione was nearly bouncing with excitement as she joined Harry and Luna at the far end of the Gryffindor table. "I think I know where the Templar treasure is!" she whispered to the other two. She placed a book on the table – Harry recognized it as one of the books she'd asked her parents to send several weeks ago – and filled her plate with food. "Let me eat and I'll tell you what I've figured out."

Her two best friends traded amused smiles with each other and returned to their own meal. Excitement was in the air, for tonight was the night that the names of the Tri-Wizard champions would be drawn from the Goblet of Fire. Harry for once was looking forward to a quiet school year. The tournament was restricted to students who had already reached the age of seventeen and were therefore considered adults in the wizarding world. For once the spotlight would be on someone else, and he was quite pleased with that. Besides, based on what Hermione had found out during her afternoon of researching the tournament, it was a dangerous spectacle at the least, and often downright _lethal._ As much danger as he was consistently in, he'd have to be a bloody moron to deliberately seek out more. If nothing else, the attention on the tournament should give him a measure of peace and quiet so that he could try to get to the bottom of this strange quest the Faerie Queen had given him and the girls.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. On the one hand, he could perhaps chalk it up to the shenanigans that seemed to plague him each year since entering magical Britain. On the other hand, it seemed that each year prior had involved the mysteries of his past, including that awful, fateful Hallowe'en night in 1981. Many of his so-called adventures directly involved Voldemort himself. He was reminded of an ancient Chinese curse he'd heard somewhere: "May you live in interesting times." Well, he had to admit that things didn't get much more interesting than having a deranged mass murderer out for your blood. He would be quite happy with a little less interesting life, thank you very much.

Queen Titania, however, had not seemed overly concerned about Voldemort. No, she was worried about something far more devastating, though unable to share many details. That did concern him, though her cryptic messages to each of the three seemed to indicate that this Templar treasure could help. He truly didn't see how he could possibly be the only person to be able to reach the killer though. Titania had advised him to trust his heart, which was all very well and good, but that still didn't tell him anything. Maybe it wasn't supposed to make sense yet.

Regardless, he and the girls had spent much of their waking hours, when they weren't in class, studying new spells in an abandoned classroom. Most of the spells were powerful combat magic, both offensive and defensive, but they also learned quite a few intended for battlefield medicine too.

Ron Weasley still glared every time he saw one of the three, but other than a few deprecating remarks about "bloody bookworms" he would generally leave them alone. It was easy enough to see that Ron was certainly one of those so-called friends who did not have their best interests at heart, and with each passing year Harry even found himself trusting Dumbledore less and less. The same could actually be said for much of the Hogwarts staff, come to think of it.

Hermione shoved her plate away, skipping dessert completely, and slid the book in front of her. At the front of the hall, Dumbledore stood up and directed for the Goblet of Fire to be brought in. As none of them were involved in the tournament, they as one decided to ignore the drawing in favour of more important issues. "Okay," Hermione whispered, gesturing for Harry and Luna to come in closer. "I've been doing a bit of research on the Templar treasure," she said. "Since the Templars were part of the nonmagical world, I had to ask Mum and Dad to send me some appropriate books." She tapped her book as the other two nodded. "This is a history of the Crusades and the factions that played major roles. It also contains some of the legends and folklore surrounding this time and the players involved. According to this, the Templars were a military order of knights that was formed in Jerusalem after the First Crusade to protect pilgrims traveling through the Holy Land. In the year 1120, Baldwin II, King of Jerusalem at that time, gave the order a wing of the royal palace on the Temple Mount to use as their headquarters – hence the name 'Templars.' Now, the Temple Mount was the site of the ruins of King Solomon's temple, which was built almost three thousand years ago and destroyed over four hundred years later. Over time the Mount grew over the ruins, and the royal palace, along with the Muslim Dome of the Rock, was eventually built over them. While the Templars were stationed there, according to legend they actually discovered a treasure of some kind beneath their headquarters, something from the original temple, or maybe Herod's temple which was built on the same site during the Roman occupation of the Holy Land."

"So that's what Grandmum was talking about, then?" Luna asked.

"I believe so. See, no one really knows what they discovered. Some suggest that it was the Holy Grail, the cup that Jesus Christ was supposed to have used at the Last Supper and which later supposedly caught his blood when the Roman soldier pierced his side with a spear as he was crucified. Others think that they found the Ark of the Covenant, the same Ark that Moses built to hold the Ten Commandments. Some claim that they found documents proving that Christ was married to Mary Magdalene, but few take those claims seriously. Some suggest that the Shroud of Turin, which was supposedly the burial wrappings of Christ, was what they found. I don't think any of that's what Titania was talking about, though. The Shroud, at least, has been in public display in the nonmagical world since the Middle Ages, and was actually studied a few years ago using some of the latest scientific techniques. The results of those studies were inconclusive and debate still continues as to its authenticity. No, I'm sure that whatever Titania was referring to is still hidden from public sight."

"But you think you know where it might be?" Harry asked.

"I think so," his girlfriend replied. "Okay, the Templars were one of the most powerful orders in Europe for almost two hundred years. King Phillip IV of France found himself heavily in debt to the Templars and claimed that they were heretics and devil worshippers as an excuse to wipe them out, at least in France, and was able to pressure Pope Clement V to disband the order entirely. Supposedly some of the French Templars escaped and fled here to Scotland where they took refuge with a lodge of stonemasons, and some believe that they brought the treasure from the Temple Mount with them, whatever it was. The masons gave them shelter and the knights taught them the codes of chivalry. This claim has been disputed, along with the claim that they fought alongside Robert the Bruce at the battle of Bannockburn, but it is still thought by some that this merging of the Templars with the masons gave rise to today's Freemason orders. In fact, one of the modern Masonic orders is called the Knights Templar.

"Now, there are Masonic lodges all over Britain, but I figure that if the original Templars did in fact merge with the Masons that any treasure they brought with them would likely be stored at Freemasons' Hall in London. Even though the actual headquarters for the current Knights Templar is located elsewhere, I suspect that Freemasons' Hall is the best place. There is a museum and library there that is open to the public, and I'm sure they have secure vaults underground for the parts of their collection that are not on display."

"That… sounds reasonable," Harry mused. "At least it's a great place to start. Do you know where it is?"

Hermione smiled at them. "It's actually less than a ten-minute walk from the Leaky Cauldron!" she said.

"No kidding? That's convenient."

"I feel that's exactly where we need to go," Luna put in. "As soon as you mentioned the hall, something clicked inside me. It was almost like that moment when I understand exactly what a blibbering humdinger is talking about."

Hermione gave Luna an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a matching sigh as the quirky blonde giggled at her friend's antics. The two Gryffindors had both figured out that a lot of Luna's off-the-wall references were simply Luna-speak for different aspects of magic that only she could see. At the same time, neither one would put it past her to show them that any or all of her fanciful creatures actually existed, much like she demonstrated with the thestrals. Hermione still played up the role of the sceptic, much to Luna's amusement, and the two girls had made something of a game about it. Never once, though, did any truly belittling word or condescending remark pass the older girl's lips. Their bickering was light-hearted and in good fun, amusing Harry to no end, but it was obvious that all three cared deeply for each other.

"Okay," Harry said. "We've got a place to start searching. When should we do it?"

His girlfriend frowned. "That's the problem, really. We aren't able to get away from school for any length of time, and Hogsmeade weekends just aren't long enough. It'll have to be during Christmas holidays. Maybe you two could come spend the holidays at my house?"

"That would give us plenty of time," Luna agreed. "I'm sure Daddy won't mind."

"And Sirius would certainly be good with that," Harry said. "He's supposed to be my guardian anyway, not the stupid Dursleys, so I could care less what they say."

"Good. I'll send an owl to my parents and ask if you two can come over, then we can get permission from Sirius and your dad, Luna."

"In the meantime…"

Harry was interrupted by Neville Longbottom grabbing his shoulder and shaking it. "Harry!"

He looked up to see his friend with a worried look on his face. The Great Hall was silent, he suddenly noticed, and everyone was looking at him. Most, he realized, were looking at him with anger and disgust. "What's up?"

"Your name just came out of the Goblet!"

Harry blinked. "This is a joke, right?"

Neville shook his head. "No, it really did."

As if to punctuate his words, Professor Dumbledore spoke up. "Harry, my boy, would you take your place with the other three champions?"

Completely bewildered, Harry stayed seated as he tried to process what was happening. He hadn't gone anywhere near the Goblet. He had no desire to compete in it anyway, especially after Hermione's research. She had shown him the mortality and casualty rate of the participants, both of which were horrifying. Not to mention the fact that said tournament was just going to get in the way of the quest Titania had given them. How did his name even get in the Goblet? He didn't put it in, so that meant that someone else must have. But who? And why? And then he remembered that today was, of course, Hallowe'en, the one day each year where the universe itself decided to shit all over him. Suddenly, a wave of rage swept over him. He slammed his fists down on the table and stood up, fixing the head table with an icy glare. "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" he yelled. "I don't have time for this bullshit!"

"Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall said. "There's no call for such language!"

"Excuse me, Professor, but I'm more than a little upset, and given the circumstances I think I bloody well have the right to speak my mind as I see fit. I haven't been anywhere near that fucking cup, which means that someone else put my name in! And there's only supposed to be _three_ champions, not four! Now, I admit that I didn't see who got picked from Hogwarts, but _they're_ our school's champion, not me! Who the bloody hell put my name in, and why did they do it? The only reason _I_ can think of to put an underage person in this blood-sport is to make sure that they get dead."

Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, we can discuss this later. I'm afraid that since your name came out you are under a binding contract."

Hermione stood up. "Professor, what is the exact name on that slip of paper?" she asked.

"Miss Granger, this is hardly the time..."

"This is _exactly_ the time to clear this up, Professor. Unless you have an ulterior motive for forcing my Harry to compete?"

The old man spluttered for a moment but was forced to concede her point. He knew that the young man never put his name in; in fact, he knew full well who did. He could not afford to tip his hand, though, because he needed the lad to serve as bait in order to draw Voldemort out. Harry was protected by the prophesy until Voldemort was resurrected, so there was really no need to worry about him getting killed in the upcoming tasks. Not that the lad or anyone else knew about it. But the annoying muggleborn had effectively issued a challenge that he was not ready to answer at this time. "The paper says Harry Potter," he grumbled.

"Just as I thought." She shook her head, incredulous at the lack of anything resembling critical thinking in the wizarding world. "Tell me, Professor, how does the Goblet know that the Harry Potter written on that slip in fact refers to the Harry _James_ Potter standing right beside me? Harry is a very common name in the English language, after all, and Potter likewise is not an uncommon surname. It would stand to reason that there are many hundreds, if not thousands, of Harry Potters throughout the world. Since my Harry did not submit his name, how then can the Goblet have _possibly_ formed an unbreakable contract with him? That would suggest that anyone of age could write down anyone else's name, submit it to the Goblet, and the Goblet would somehow know the correct person with whom to force a binding contract, regardless of whether the name was spelled correctly, completely, or not. Frankly, I find that idea ludicrous in the extreme. I would say that it is far more likely that said contract is between the Goblet and whoever illegally entered his name instead."

Harry smiled at his girlfriend, his relief evident on his face. "Well, if that's the case then no worries. Thanks, love," he said, kissing her cheek. The two of them sat back down at the table.

Dumbledore had not expected this. "Harry, you must compete!" he said. "Are you really willing to risk your magic, and possibly your life, on nothing more than a fellow student's guess?"

"Absolutely!" Harry responded without hesitation. "What you fail to understand, _Headmaster_ , is that there is not a single person at this bloody school that I trust more than my Hermione or Luna, including you. _Especially_ you, if your record of keeping me and my fellow students safe over the past three years says anything. And again you dropped the quaffle by not taking sufficient measures to keep underage students out of this fucking bloodbath – and of _course_ it's my bloody name that comes up, isn't it? Once is bad luck, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a bloody conspiracy. This is the _fourth_ year in a bloody row that my life has been threatened on your watch, Headmaster, in what _you_ claim is the safest place in all Britain. And frankly, I am sick to death of this bullshit. Fortunately, Hermione truly does have my best interests at heart, as does Luna here, just as I have theirs. So, bottom line is, I will not participate in the tournament. Yes, I will risk my magic on her word. And if the worst happens and I do lose my magic, then I'll simply go back to the nonmagical world. I've lived there most all my life anyway and it holds no fear or mystery for me. Hell, the bloody Dursleys might even see me as human again if I no longer have magic. That's really the only thing they ever hated about me, though they did make my life hell for it. And if it does take my life, well, I guess I won't much care about it after the fact anyway."

Hermione had squeezed his hand tightly as he spoke of losing his magic or life like it was no big deal. He squeezed back in reassurance and gave her the faintest of smirks as he nodded in the general direction of the head table and the ashen countenances and gaping mouths of their professors gathered there.

"Anyhow," Harry continued, "I look forward to seeing the bastard that submitted my name try to compete instead. Or lose their magic, or their life. Either way, I'm sure it'll be entertaining."

Professor Dumbledore finally gave his head a quick shake and tried again. "Surely, Harry, you can see that wishing someone harm like that is the first step to going dark? You must learn to forgive those that harm you!" he implored.

Harry raised his hand. "With all due respect, Professor, I fail to see how I can forgive someone if they do not come forward and apologize to me and seek to make restitution. From your words, I suspect that you expect me to just issue a blanket forgiveness and come along quietly so that _I_ pay the consequences of their crime instead of them. Well, fuck that! I will not be a willing party for anyone to walk all over me anymore. Now, I'm sure that you have champions who are wondering what the hell is taking so long, not to mention an investigation into finding the tosser who put my bloody name in the cup." He turned back to the girls, his anger evaporating almost instantly. "Are you two finished eating?" he asked. At their nods, he stood and offered his arm to his girlfriend. "Shall we retire, then?"

Books in hand, the trio made their way to the entrance of the Great Hall, ignoring the shocked faces of students and faculty alike. An apoplectic Severus Snape finally found his voice. " _Potter_!" he bellowed. "A month of detentions with me for your disrespect to the headmaster, our traditions, and our school!"

Harry ignored the potions master, only giving him the two-fingered salute over his shoulder as he left the hall with his girls.

As the door shut behind the exiting trio, bedlam erupted in the hall. The students, of course, were amazed at Potter's response, and reactions varied from disdain and suggestions of cowardice and/or cheating (mainly from Slytherin, but one Ronald Weasley was quite vocal with his denunciations in Gryffindor as well) to worry, confusion, and concern (mainly Gryffindor, but many in Hufflepuff, seeing that Harry had no desire to steal the thunder of their own Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts Champion, were not willing to immediately condemn him). The visiting schools seemed rather amused or curious overall, though many showed bored indifference as well. The Hogwarts faculty as a whole was still in shock. Snape, of course, was nearly spitting in rage as he cursed the name of Potter going back generations. McGonagall, as Harry's head of house, was mortified at her cub's disrespect, but even more so was shocked at the ramifications of his statements. She confessed to herself that she hadn't given it much thought, especially with the continual reassurances of the headmaster, but his words painted a damning picture of not only Hogwarts as a whole, but by extension Albus Dumbledore and even herself as his head of house. Dumbledore still stood agape at the closed doors, wondering what had happened to the meek, biddable tool he'd shaped Harry Potter to be. And one other faculty member, though calm and stoic on the outside, began to tremble on the inside. Could that mudblood be right? Could the contract with the Goblet actually be with whomever put the slip of paper in, regardless of the name written upon it? If so, that would be... problematic, if not disastrous. He'd have to make sure that Potter competed in the tournament, no matter what, if he had to toss the brat into the tasks himself. Not just for the contract's sake, but for the plans of his master as well.

***DIM***

"Harry, sit down, love."

The young man angrily paced back and forth, muttering imprecations under his breath at Snape, Dumbledore, the Ministry of Magic, and magical Britain in general. The Room of Requirement had taken the form of a small, comfortable living room with a plush sofa seated before a homey, burning fireplace. Hermione and Luna sat on the couch watching their friend as he cursed fate for yet again involving him in deadly shenanigans. "I'm tired of this, Mione," he complained. "We're students, that's all. We're not supposed to be having these kinds of adventures. We're supposed to be attending classes, studying, hanging out with friends, falling in love... Not risking our bloody lives while the adults that are supposed to be caring for us are sitting on their hands at best and outright abusing us at worst!" He shook his head. "The only person that seems to be doing anything constructive is this so-called vigilante that we're supposed to be looking for. I'm almost tempted to tell the Queen thanks, but no thanks."

Luna's eyes widened. "Harry, I'm not sure..."

He waved his hand. "Don't worry, Luna. I won't do that, not really. At least your grandmum was as straightforward as she could be, given her situation. I respect that. But Dumbledore and company?" He shook his head again, making his opinion clear. He sighed as he flopped down on the couch between the two girls.

Hermione immediately took his hand, pulling it into her lap. "I still can't believe you flicked the V at Professor Snape," she said. "You know he's only going to make your detention that much worse."

"I don't care. I'm not attending another detention with him, ever. In fact, I'm not going to attend another class with him either. I will leave this bloody school before I have anything else to do with that greasy tosser ever again."

"Harry, what if they expel you?"

"Somehow, I don't think it'll come to that," he said. "Dumbledore seems determined to keep me here, if his reaction downstairs when I said it wouldn't be a big deal to lose my magic was anything to go by. If he really wants me here, then he can get a decent Potions professor here for me. Snape has had it in for me ever since our first year, and I don't even bloody well know why. Hell, he keeps bitching that I'm just like my father, but how the hell should I know what he was like? Regardless, I'm done with him. Malfoy too. I am sick to death of taking their bigoted shit. Like that old movie said, I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore."

"It didn't end very well for Howard Beale, though, did it?" Hermione said. "Please be careful, love, okay?"

"Always," he replied, giving her a warm smile.

"What was all that about the Dursleys, Harry?" Luna asked. "I heard you mention before that Professor Dumbledore wants you to stay with them, but who are they really?"

The smile disappeared as he sighed. He didn't like talking about them at all, but he figured that the girls both deserved to know. Besides, he'd promised. "Petunia Dursley is my mother's sister," he explained. "Vernon is her husband, and Dudley is their bloated thug of a son. They spoil him rotten and are completely blind to his criminal nature. They, unfortunately, are my only relatives, and our bloody headmaster insists that I stay with them during the summer holidays – but he refuses to say why. 'It's for your own safety, Harry, my boy,'" he mocked in a passable imitation of Dumbledore. "'I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that, my lad, you're simply not old enough to understand, my boy. You should enjoy your childhood in the meantime, Harry, my boy, and when I deem you of sufficient age, I may just give you a hint. Only a hint, mind, it simply wouldn't do for you to actually know why I do anything I do, my lad, just know that it's for the… _Greater Good_.'" This last was delivered in a reverent whisper. "'You must trust me, my boy, I assure you I only have your best interests at heart.'" He snorted. "I don't know any other person who can talk so much and yet say so little. _Greater Good._ Anytime I hear those words, it's a dead giveaway that someone's about to get buggered hard, if they haven't been already."

The girls couldn't help smiling at Harry's impression of their headmaster, but gestured for him to continue.

"Anyway, as best as I can figure out Mum never really got along with her sister, especially after starting at Hogwarts. Petunia and Vernon told me that Mum and Dad were drunken layabouts who died in an automobile accident – that they caused, no less." His voice hitched as he began to share secrets he'd never told a soul, but once he started he couldn't seem to stop. "They made it clear that I was not welcome in their house ever since I can remember, and they insisted that I work my arse off in exchange for their benevolence in taking me in. Fucking useless wankers, the lot of them. I've been taking care of the grounds, the cleaning, and the cooking ever since I was capable, barely given enough food to survive, beaten bloody with every mistake I made – or anytime I showed up their precious lump of a son in anything – and forced to live in a bloody cupboard under the bloody stairs. At least until I started Hogwarts, that is. And God help me if I did anything _freakish_ – Dursley-speak for anything magical or otherwise unexplained."

Hermione and Luna both were in tears by this point, and the blonde Ravenclaw was almost wishing she hadn't asked. Both could see that opening up was good for him, though. Even though silent tears ran down his face as well, he was already sitting just a little bit straighter, as if a burden was dropped from his shoulders.

His girlfriend gently cupped his face with her hand. "How bad?" she asked as she caressed his cheek with her thumb.

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, reading unconditional love there. Without answering, he turned to study Luna's face as well. He honestly wasn't quite as sure of his feelings for her, though he recognized that in her own way she was just as important to him as Hermione was. The three of them had forged a deep and unique bond with each other over the past few weeks, one that they would be hard-pressed to explain to anyone. He couldn't really see himself marrying her one day – that spot was reserved solely for Hermione – yet he sensed that she would always be an integral part of his life. Of _their_ life. And as he looked into her red-rimmed, stricken eyes, he could see love and trust there too. He knew in his heart that the words he'd spoken to Dumbledore were true – there was no one he trusted as much as these two girls. And so, as painful as it was, he made the decision to open his heart completely and share one of his most closely-guarded secrets.

He slowly got to his feet, slipping his robe off and leaving it on the couch between his two best friends. He turned around to face them as he removed his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, fingers shaking as he began to bare his torso.

Hermione gasped as she realized that he was about to show them the answer to her question. She could see that it was taking a toll on his emotional state and jumped to her feet. "You don't have to," she whispered as she covered his hands with her own.

"No secrets," he whispered as he raised his face to hers. "If we're going to have a future together, you need to know."

Silently weeping for him, she nodded her acceptance as he turned to Luna. As their eyes met, the blonde also leapt up and threw her arms around them both as she, too, wept. The girls clung to each other as Harry pulled off his shirt and slowly turned around.

Twin horrified gasps sounded behind him as for the first time in his life he voluntarily revealed his heavily scarred back to other souls. A moment later a pair of arms encircled his waist from behind as Hermione embraced him, laying her damp cheek on the knotted scar tissue on his shoulders. He could feel her body jerk behind him as she was wracked with deep, heartfelt sobs.

"Oh Harry," Luna wept as she wrapped her arms around him. He returned her embrace and kissed her on the top of her head.

"It's okay, girls," he said.

"No, it's fucking not, Harry!" Hermione sniffled. "There is no reason for you to have to live with those animals!"

"I'm pretty sure you insulted every animal in the world just now."

"Don't change the subject," she snapped, though he could tell that her ire was not directed at him. She traced a particularly nasty series of scars across her boyfriend's back, an old injury that Harry remembered in vivid detail. "What was this from, love?"

"It was my tenth birthday," he whispered as he stared off into space. "Vernon bought a special belt for the occasion. It was two inches wide and had a double row of metal studs – spikes, really – down the length of the belt. He tied my wrists to the bannister, tore my shirt off, doubled the belt over, and beat me with it. Ten lashes, one for each year I'd been alive. I'm sure he was looking forward to doing it again when I turned eleven, but my Hogwarts letter came and let him know that the freaks were watching him."

Hermione was sure she was going to be sick. "Oh my god, Harry. Does Professor Dumbledore know about this?"

"I don't know. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has told him." He paused before continuing in a quieter voice. "At the very least he must've known I was being forced to live in a cupboard. That's how my Hogwarts letter was addressed."

His girlfriend's grip tightened. "What?"

"Yeah, it was addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"The Cupboard Under the... that utter bastard!" she shrieked. "That evil, manipulative, loathsome, son of a whore! I will strangle him with that ridiculous beard!"

"Hermione!" Harry and Luna both pulled the furious girl into their arms as her ranting trailed off. Both girls were a wreck at this point, but Harry held them both as they wept together. Hermione especially seemed to take it hard, and frankly her boyfriend expected nothing less. His best friend in the universe had always had an almost religious respect for authority figures, one that he had never shared. He knew that her childhood had been quite lonely. She'd never considered herself attractive, even when he assured her that she was, and he suspected that much of her insecurity was a direct result of the vicious teasing and tormenting that occurs on school playgrounds all over the world. Combined with her frightening intellect, love of the written word, and perfect marks in all her classes, and it was easy to see that she had never connected with her peers. The adults in her life were the sole voices of reason and comfort in her trials, and she had never known an adult to fail her.

In contrast, every adult that had been in his life had failed him. The Dursleys themselves were directly responsible for the bulk of the abuse heaped upon his head, and they always had some excuse or another ready on those rare occasions when someone did question the abnormalities surrounding the young Harry Potter. The Dursleys were considered upstanding members of the community and were always taken at their word. Coupled with the poor marks at school he was forced to maintain so as to not outshine their precious Diddikins, and combined with the Dursleys' stories of him being a good-for-nothing hooligan, it was inevitable that headmasters, teachers, school nurses, and other authority figures would eventually stop caring to check up on him. Given that Vernon would always beat him after such a questioning, he learned to do his level best to avoid the attention of any such figure. The signs that would normally alert responsible adults to the abuse that he suffered were as a result either unseen or explained away and subsequently ignored.

Dumbledore's role in his continued incarceration in his own personal hell was, therefore, not a surprise to him. Indeed, it was somewhat expected. He'd accepted it long ago as something he couldn't, at the moment, do anything about. That didn't mean that he approved of it, however, or accepted that this was the way things _had_ to be. He really didn't understand why the headmaster had such a vested interest in him – or Voldemort either, for that matter – but the entirety of magical Britain seemed to hang on the old man's every word, and as often as not would do things simply because Dumbledore thought that was for the best. Even the man's political adversaries, like Minister Fudge last year, were careful not to push him too far, even if they flat out disagreed with him. Harry knew that in addition to the role of Headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore also held the seat of Chief Warlock of Britain's Wizengamot, as well as the seat of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The young man didn't know the specifics of the latter two roles, but it would appear that they were both high leadership positions in both political bodies. He also knew that being the headmaster of a school was a full-time position by anyone's definition, and he suspected that the other two could easily qualify for such as well. Despite the man spreading himself too thin, at least in Harry's opinion, between three potentially full-time jobs, it was undeniable that Dumbledore had an unprecedented level of political clout. Since last year, Harry had often wondered why, then, Dumbledore had not been able to get Sirius Black a trial. Yes, Minister Fudge had not believed that Black was innocent, but Dumbledore had said that he himself did.

Harry still felt raw at the disappointment he'd felt when he realized that he would not be able to live with his godfather after all, and instead was forced back to the Dursley prison. He couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore was somehow relieved that Harry was going back to live with his hated relatives instead of going to live with a man who had escaped prison to protect him. But, as Sirius was still a fugitive, there was nothing he could do except return to his home of record. Dumbledore, as expected, was as tight-lipped about his reasons why as he was at the end of first year, after Harry had confronted the Voldemort-possessed Professor Quirrell during the fiasco with the Philosopher's Stone. There were plenty of other clues, though, that seemed to be painting a clear picture, but it was such an ugly picture that Harry really didn't want to examine it up close. At the same time, he knew that he'd have to before long, especially if he wanted to wrest control of his life away from those who appeared to be directing it against his will.

While Harry had had time to grow accustomed to the suspicion that Professor Dumbledore had some hidden agenda with him or for him, it came as an unwelcome shock to Hermione. She'd had suspicions concerning some of the events over the past three years, such as the ease of the so-called traps guarding the Philosopher's Stone, or the fact that she, a second-year student, figured out that the creature in the Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk while the faculty supposedly remained clueless, but at the end of it all she trusted that Professor Dumbledore had reasons that she couldn't be expected to understand. Seeing the lattice-work of scars on her boyfriend's back and learning that their headmaster must know about the abuse he'd suffered shattered her worldview. All her life, authority figures were people who could be trusted to know better, even if she didn't fully understand their reasoning. They were protectors, instructors, and people who made sure that society and civilization flowed smoothly. They were people who could be trusted to keep the world from falling into anarchy, to work not only for the collective good of the people they represented but for the good of the individual as well. That all came crashing down with the knowledge that Dumbledore must have fully known that Harry was kept in a cupboard – _a cupboard!_ – instead of being allowed to live in a bedroom. As far as she was concerned, that meant that he was complicit in the abuse that her boyfriend suffered and continued to suffer every summer the old man insisted that Harry return to those disgusting people. And that was unforgivable. And if Dumbledore couldn't be trusted to look after his students' best interests, who then could be trusted? At this point, her world compressed to the two people with her at this present moment. She knew she could trust her parents as well, but they would be no help in the magical realm. Luna's grandmum, Titania, seemed trustworthy as well, but her hands were tied by the treaty with the Unseelie. She didn't know Luna's father well enough to make a qualified judgment. So far he seemed trustworthy enough, if a little off, but his primary focus seemed to be the _Quibbler._

Hermione dried her eyes and stepped back, taking the hands of Harry and Luna in her own. "I trust you two," she whispered. A new resolve burned deep in her eyes. "No matter what happens, I will stand with you and support and defend you both to my dying breath. As I see it, we only have each other. I hesitate to trust anyone else right now." She turned to Harry. "I will join you in your boycott of Snape's classes and detentions. If they expel us, I don't care anymore. I will stay with you regardless."

"As will I," Luna put in as she took Harry's free hand, joining the three into a circle. "Where the two of you go, there too will I go. So long as we stay together in our hearts, none can separate us, nor stand against us. The wrackspurts will gain no foothold in our minds, and the nargles will flee before us." She smiled at the other two, laughing at their expressions.

"Wait a minute," Harry said, suddenly remembering something. He turned to his girlfriend, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Were my ears deceiving me or did I just hear Hermione Granger of all people use… _profanity?"_ The last word was spoken in an incredulous whisper.

His girlfriend blushed. "I could, perhaps, blame the nefarious influence of my foul-mouthed boyfriend," she retorted, "but you know what? I've spent my entire life up to this point trying to do the right thing, play by the rules, study hard and listen to the teachers, and in general be a good citizen and a good person. Now I find that those same people that I've been taught to respect and heed all my life are engaged in immoral if not outright criminal activity, and suddenly trying to keep a civil tongue in my head doesn't seem nearly so important. I'm done, Harry. Damn them, and to hell with the consequences."

***DIM***

The three teens remained in the Room of Requirement until it was almost curfew. After bidding Luna goodnight at the Ravenclaw tower, Harry and Hermione made their way back to the Gryffindor tower, making it back to their common room with scant minutes to spare. Several students were still up studying or playing games. When the couple entered, the quiet buzz of conversation died out as uneasy faces met their own. Remembering the spectacle of their second year and the surrounding debacle of the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione rolled her eyes. "And so the rumours, accusations, and unfounded conjecture for this year commence," she snarked. "It's somewhat overdue; I was beginning to worry."

Harry shook his head. "You'd think they'd remember what happened two years ago," he agreed. "Fortunately, I didn't give much of a bloody fuck then, and certainly less now."

"Your word choice aside, my dear, I couldn't agree more. See you for breakfast?"

"But of course, my lady." He bowed low over her hand, sweeping his arm out in a grandiose manner as he repeatedly kissed her knuckles.

His girlfriend laughed at his antics as she pulled him up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Behave, prat," she giggled as their lips met.

"Never!"

After a few more kisses, they bid each other goodnight and went up to their separate dorm rooms.

As Harry entered the room he shared with the other fourth-year Gryffindor boys, Ron stood up and blocked his way with his arms folded. "What's your game, Potter?" he demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You obviously cheated the Goblet somehow, and then when your name came out you turned it down. What's the matter, couldn't stand not being in the spotlight this year?"

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved past the redhead. "Fuck off, Weasley. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain things to you in such a way that you could comprehend. Do yourself a favour and keep your bloody nose out of things that don't concern you at all. You'll be much happier, I assure you."

"You knew I wanted to be a champion, you bastard! You should've told me before you did it so I could have my own chance! Unless," he mused with a suspicious glare, "you got the Goblet to choose you and then made a spectacle of turning it down just so you could once more piss all over my dreams. That's it, isn't it? I bet that's why you're going out with Hermione too, isn't it? She was supposed to be mine and you were supposed to be with Ginny! But you knew and so you took her away from me! You think you've got everyone fooled, don't you? But I'm on to you, Potter! You won't get away with it this time!"

Harry looked at his former friend as if he'd suddenly grown an extra pair of ears. "My god, that was more delusional than anything I've ever heard Snape _or_ Malfoy say," he observed. "You're really going to have to do better than that, Weasley, if you want anyone to ever take you seriously." Shaking his head, he turned toward his bed.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Ron grabbed Harry's arm and spun him around, swinging his fist at the same time. Surprised at the redhead's aggression, Harry did not move out of the way in time and Ron's fist caught him right in the jaw. The sudden flow of copper-tasting fluid told him that he'd cut the inside of his mouth on his teeth. Dean, Seamus, and Neville by this time had leapt to their feet and grabbed Ron to prevent any further violence.

Harry's face remained expressionless as he looked at Ron before he spat a mixture of blood and saliva in the redhead's face. "Your sister attacks butter dishes with her elbows harder than that," he smirked.

Ron's face flushed an ugly purple as he bellowed incoherently with rage and lunged forward again. The other three boys struggled to hold him back but were ultimately successful. "Settle down, Ron!" Neville shouted. "You're going to get in trouble!"

"Why should I? He spit on me!"

"And you hit him first!"

"That's because he's a cheat and a thief! He deserved it!"

"It doesn't matter!" Neville said. "All anyone is going to care about is that you threw the first punch and are yelling like a madman. It doesn't matter who started it, that will automatically make you the bad guy."

His words seemed to make an impression because Ron soon stopped struggling. "Alright," he said with a sullen voice. "I'm done." After the others let him go, he wiped the blood from his face and turned a hateful glare at Harry. "You just better watch your back, Potter," he growled and stalked out to find a bathroom to clean himself up.

"Thanks, guys," Harry sighed as he pulled open the canopy of his bed.

"Is this going to be problem all year, Harry?" Neville asked. "Because I really don't want to have to keep you guys separated if it is."

"I don't know, Neville. I can assure you that I have no intention of even speaking to Ron if I don't have to. I'm certainly not going to start anything. I really don't know what his problem is. Hermione and I just started talking to Luna, that was all. You'd think I'd punched him in the todger from the way he's behaving. Hopefully he'll get over whatever's pissing him off, but I refuse to spend my life tiptoeing around Ronald Weasley and trying not to set him off. I've got way too much other stuff to focus on that's much more important, not the least of which is my beautiful girlfriend."

Neville smiled and clapped him on the back as they turned toward their respective beds and prepared for sleep. Ron came back in after a couple of minutes, scowling and refusing to look at or speak to anyone. The redhead climbed into his own bed and without a word immediately pulled the canopy shut.

Harry sighed and shook his head as he pulled his own curtains closed. The loss of Ron's friendship hadn't bothered him near as much as he'd thought it would, but the ginger's behaviour was getting worse and worse. When would the bloody pillock take the hint and get on with his own life? Was it encoded in the Weasley genetics to obsess over the "Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived" or something? Between Ron and his little sister Ginny it certainly seemed that way. And what the hell was that drivel about Hermione belonging to Ron and he belonging to Ginny? Where the hell did that come from? Were they nothing more than possessions to be claimed by the two youngest Weasleys? Not to mention the eerie similarity in appearance between Ginny and his mother, Lily Potter. He shuddered at the thought of dating _anyone_ that looked so much like his mother. My god, what a nausea-inducing concept. Pushing the nightmarish images away, he focused on his Mione instead, on her wild, untamed hair and her gorgeous cinnamon eyes burning with intelligence. He drifted off to a contented sleep, the thought of her perfect pink lips pressed against his setting the stage for his dreams that night.


	5. The Approaching Storm

At breakfast the next morning, Professor McGonagall approached Harry where he sat eating and talking with Hermione and Luna. "Mr. Potter, the headmaster would like to speak with you in his office immediately," she said. Her expression did not give away any feeling beyond a sense of disapproval, though whether it was directed toward him or the situation in general was unknown. With a sigh he acknowledged her instructions and received the password to Dumbledore's office.

"Looks like it's time to pay the piper for last night," he muttered after McGonagall returned to the head table.

Hermione and Luna both stood with him. "We're coming with you," his girlfriend said. Luna nodded her head in agreement.

"Thanks, girls," he said as they left the Great Hall. "That means a lot."

The stone gargoyle blocking the spiral stairway to Dumbledore's office moved aside as Harry spoke the password and the trio ascended the stairs.

"Ah, Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said in his best grandfatherly voice. Harry took in the headmaster's office at a glance. Over there were bookshelves loaded with ancient tomes, on the far wall hung the myriad portraits of headmasters past, near Dumbledore's desk sat a stool upon which was perched the Sorting Hat, and an empty perch stood by the sole window. Normally Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, would sit on it, but today the bird was apparently out. And, of course, the gaunt form of Severus Snape stood looming in the corner like a bat, arms folded, a scowl on his face, but otherwise silent. "So good of you to respond promptly," Dumbledore continued. "Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, you are free to go to your classes."

"What the bloody hell is _he_ doing here?" Harry demanded before the girls could so much as move, as he pointed directly at Snape.

The twinkle disappeared from Dumbledore's eyes. "Harry, Severus is one of your professors and I have asked him to be here. You must show him the respect his position demands."

"Just like his father," the potions master sneered. "Arrogant and full of himself, like always."

Harry's face turned to stone. "I see." Without another word, he turned around and walked to the door.

"Where do you think you're going, Harry?" the headmaster demanded.

"Sir, there is literally nothing that I care to talk about while in that man's presence. As a matter of fact, there is literally nothing that I _will_ talk about while he is here. If you want to talk to me, then send him away."

"Harry, I trust Severus with my life. Surely that…"

"Professor," Harry interrupted, "I'm sure that you do. However, given that I trust _you_ about as far as I can throw this bloody castle, you'll perhaps forgive me if I fail to be comforted by your endorsement."

Snape took a step forward. "Of all the…"

"Severus," the headmaster said with an upraised hand, "I don't believe that will help the situation. I'm afraid that in the interests of keeping the peace I'll have to ask you to be the bigger man and take your leave. In the meantime, we will hope that young Harry will mature enough to appreciate your input."

"Not bloody likely," Harry muttered.

"You're really going to let the little brat dictate to you?" Snape growled.

"I need to talk with him, and unfortunately your presence here seems to be counterproductive. Thank you for your time. Ladies, you too are dismissed."

"They stay," Harry broke in.

"Where Harry goes, so do we," Luna agreed.

Hermione remained silent, but the look in her eyes said that she could not be dragged from the office.

A scowling Snape brushed past the trio without another word, though if looks could kill there would probably be nothing left of them but three red, wet smears on broken cobblestone.

An upset headmaster turned sorrowful eyes to the young man. "Harry, my boy, I can't tell you how disappointed I am with you right now. This hostility you have toward Professor Snape is quite uncalled for, I assure you. You must learn to let bygones be bygones."

"Tell that to _him_ ," Harry snapped. "That foul creature has been up my arse since the day we met. I know that he had a bad history with my father, but there is literally no reason for him to take out his adolescent hatred for a dead man I never knew on me. He is the single most unprofessional person I have met in the entirety of magical Britain, and that includes Minister Fudge. Any _decent_ school would have sacked a teacher that bullies and taunts the students long ago. The fact that such a teacher is still here is a direct indictment not only of this institution but of you as well. Be advised that I have no intention of having anything to do with him in any way, shape, or form from now on. I will not be attending any of his classes, nor will I be attending any of his detentions. On my magic, so I swear."

The last part of Harry's rant slipped out before Dumbledore could say anything. There was a flash of light as Harry's magic accepted the oath, making his statement unbreakable. "Harry, what have you done?" the headmaster asked in horror.

"That, Headmaster, was a magically-binding oath – a contract, if you will – that, unlike some _other_ contracts that have recently been discussed, I entered of my own free will. Eagerly so, I might add."

"You understand that Potions is one of the required courses, do you not?"

Harry shrugged. "If it's so important that I learn potions, then get someone here who can actually teach. Whether it's a completely new professor or just a tutor, I don't care. Regardless, I am done with that miserable shit stain. The only people viler than him are those monsters you insist I live with every summer, them and that fat bitch Vernon calls a sister."

"The same goes for us, Headmaster," Hermione spoke up. "Luna and I will not be attending any of Snape's classes or detentions either."

Dumbledore sadly shook his head. "I simply do not understand where this unreasonable behaviour of yours is coming from. I am disappointed – no, disgusted – with the attitudes of all three of you. What would your parents think?"

"Mine would be proud of me for standing up for what I believe," Hermione said.

"Daddy would understand once I explained the severity of the wrackspurt infestation here at school," Luna said with a faint smile.

"My parents are both dead, so I don't have a fucking clue what they would think," Harry growled. "And fuck you very much for trying to manipulate me with them like that, old man."

Dumbledore stared back at Harry, his anger visible. "Your attitude and your words are unacceptable," he said coldly. "This can be considered grounds for suspension at the least, if not expulsion."

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I've already said I don't mind leaving the magical world behind. You know, I once thought that magic would be my salvation from the living hell I've learned _you_ inflicted upon me. I have found, though, that your world has brought me nothing but heartache and misery, with two notable exceptions." This last was accompanied by a gesture toward the two girls. "I can't help thinking we'd be better off just telling magical Britain to sod off. God knows you people haven't done anything at all to inspire an ounce of loyalty from me. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Burying his face in his hands, the headmaster took a few calming breaths. Damn it, he had no leverage on the boy! He couldn't even use the two girls – both were firmly behind the boy, and even looked ready to follow him out the door if he left. Unfortunate as it was, young Harry had a destiny that he had to meet for the good of the entire magical world, and it was up to Albus Dumbledore to make sure that the young man met said destiny. But if he continued on his current path with this hostility and newfound independence, then Merlin only knew what Harry would do! This was not the meek, biddable young man that he needed, willing to lay down his own life for the good of the realm. This was instead a young man who seemed to be pushed to the end of his rope, and worse had a compelling reason to live! And he was a hair's breadth from leaving the magical realm to fend for itself. Perhaps allowing him to be entered into the tournament had been a mistake. Unfortunately, it was already done, the contract already sealed. He'd wanted to reason with Harry this morning and show him that he really did need to compete despite what Miss Granger claimed, but he could see now that the boy was in no mood to listen. No, he would have to figure out some other way to get him in the arena for the first task less than a month away.

"You may go," he said without looking at the trio. He heard the door close behind them and rubbed his tired eyes. He opened his bottom desk drawer and removed a bottle of Ogden's Finest and a glass tumbler. In spite of the early hour, he poured two fingers of the potent firewhisky and tossed it back. After a moment's contemplation he poured another two, took a sip, and leaned back with a heavy sigh. Sometimes it seemed that nobody really appreciated all the hard work and sacrifices he put forward to ensure victory over the darkness.

***DIM***

Nothing more was said to the trio about attending Snape's classes and detentions. Evidently Dumbledore had spoken to Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick as none of them said anything about the matter, even after a week of them not attending Potions.

Harry suspected that his former best mate wouldn't let things go, and sure enough one afternoon as they were leaving the Great Hall after lunch, Hermione stumbled forward as she was cursed in the back. Harry spun around to see a smirking Ron Weasley with his wand extended in their direction. Luna quickly cancelled the hex, which had caused Hermione's front teeth to start growing, and with a glare at the red-headed prat reversed the spell. Knowing that Hermione had always been sensitive about her large front teeth, the blonde Ravenclaw shrunk them to match the rest of her teeth. After making sure that Luna had things well in hand, Harry reached into his pocket and grabbed the roll of shillings he'd started carrying around. Clenching his fist around the coins, he stalked up to Weasley and without a word punched him in the jaw as hard as he could.

The rolled-up coins strengthened the impact of his blow, shattering Ron's jaw into pieces. Stunned at the unexpected brutality, it took several seconds for the pain of his broken teeth and bones to register, several seconds that the red-head couldn't afford to lose.

It had been a such a perfect plan too. He had it all worked out. He knew full well Hermione's insecurity regarding her teeth, so a prank like this was sure to hurt her feelings like little else would. Of course, Madam Pomfrey could reverse the charm, it wasn't like it was that big a deal, but the message he'd sent said that he had no qualms about using a person's weakness to bring them down. All he'd have to do now is find some way to hit Potter and Loony with the death of their parents. Yes, it was cruel, but they should never have turned their backs on Ron Weasley. It was nothing less than they deserved.

All this was running through his head after he let the spell fly. By the time his thoughts caught up to what was happening, Harry's fist impacted his face a second time, destroying his nose. Several more punches reduced Ronald's face to a bloody pulp, his other fist gripping the collar of the red-head's robes to keep him from falling down. A barely conscious Ron could just make out the cold, expressionless green eyes of his former friend, and what little coherence remained was terrified.

Harry pulled him close so that they were nose to nose. "If you ever so much as point your wand at Hermione or Luna for any reason, you cowardly worm, I will bury you," he said. He might have been discussing the weather for all the emotion that his voice conveyed. His nose wrinkled in disgust as Ron's bladder voided itself, and he shoved the other boy away.

Her smile more beautiful than ever, Hermione took Harry's battered hand in her own and kissed it, not giving the ginger menace a second glance as he lay on the floor in his own filth. Without another word she pulled out her wand and healed her boyfriend's hand, and along with Luna led him away.

Harry was given a week's detention with Professor McGonagall, which he served without complaint. His head of house was surprisingly understanding as to why he'd responded as he did; nevertheless, she had to issue punishment for severely injuring another student regardless of the reason. And with her immediate action on the matter, Dumbledore had no legitimate reason to step in any further. In a show of solidarity that frankly warmed her heart, Hermione and Luna insisted on attending the detentions along with Harry.

It came as no surprise when the next morning at breakfast Harry noticed Errol, the Weasley's elderly, bedraggled post owl, flying erratically while struggling with a smoking red envelope held in his beak. "Heads up," he alerted the girls.

As the poor owl was almost to the point of passing out anyway, Luna helped him along by casting a low-powered stunner at him, followed by a cushioning charm so he wouldn't be hurt when he fell. Meanwhile Hermione cast the levitation charm at the envelope that fell from Errol's limp beak and held it in place while Harry incinerated it with his own spell.

"I must say, I am getting sick and bloody tired of dealing with the Weasleys," he growled. "Is a howler that bloody woman's answer to _everything?_ "

"She _is_ known as 'Howler Molly' in certain circles," Luna giggled as she carefully retrieved Errol and revived him.

"I look at the older boys and I wonder what happened with Ronald," Hermione said. "Then I look at their mum and I realize it's a bloody wonder that the older ones turned out as well as they did."

After being released from the infirmary, Ron kept his distance, though his glares rivalled those of Snape in their ferocity. None of the three let their guard down around the youngest Weasley boy, though. He'd already proven that he'd curse them from the back, and they wouldn't put it past him to set an ambush, or even do something in the middle of the night. The girls thankfully didn't have to worry about that due to the inability of boys to enter the girls' dorms, though Hermione was concerned that Ginny might try something. After learning that Harry always kept a series of alarm and defensive charms around his bed and trunk, she began doing the same thing. Luna followed their example as well, even though there was no way Ron would ever be able to sneak into the Ravenclaw tower, let alone the girls' dorms there.

Draco Malfoy, surprisingly enough, kept his head down. He didn't so much as glance in their direction, let alone taunt them. It was easy to see that the brutal murder of his father had taken a serious toll on the young man.

McGonagall approached them a week after their meeting with Dumbledore and informed them that private Potions tutelage had been arranged under a potions mistress named Andromeda Tonks. While the woman may not have been quite the prodigy as Potions Master Snape was, she knew how to teach. As a result, even Harry found Potions to not only be more comprehensible but even enjoyable. In order to accommodate Professor Tonks' schedule, the three attended their lessons together.

After writing her parents, Hermione received from them a brochure from the London Freemasons' Hall, complete with a map of the areas open to the public. The three spent hours in the library studying the layout to gain some familiarity with the building, though, as Hermione observed, it would probably be useful only so they knew where _not_ to search for the mysterious treasure. "Of course, they're not going to show the layout of the storage vaults on a public map," she said. "I'm sure the vaults are there, though. Every museum has them. It's just a matter of getting into the restricted areas."

"It's a good thing your grandmum removed the Trace," Harry told Luna. "We'll need to know unlocking charms for sure, plus something to help us move unseen and unheard. My invisibility cloak isn't big enough to cover the three of us anymore, so it'll have to be spellwork. Also, is there anything to help with locating something?"

"I could probably be able to sense it," Luna said. "It's not a guarantee though."

"I wonder," Hermione muttered thoughtfully. She started chewing on her bottom lip, and it was all Harry could do to refrain from throwing her down on the table and kissing her senseless. He had no idea why, but that little quirk of hers always drove him wild every time she did it. It was mostly Luna's knowing grin that stopped him from getting them all thrown out of the library, though the thought of Madam Pince turning her disapproving gaze upon them certainly helped in that regard.

Oblivious to the distraction she was providing her boyfriend, Hermione continued her thought. "There's a spell that can be used to find true north," she said. "I wonder if I can modify it to find specific items."

"How would you do that?" Harry asked after he swallowed a few times so he could speak without his voice cracking.

"I'd have to study the arithmancy," she replied. "Once I break the spell down to its base components and isolate the equation to determine true north, I think I can treat that as a variable once I determine an appropriate equation to locate an object."

"It would have to be intent-based, too," Luna put in. "We don't know exactly what we're looking for beyond some vague treasure."

Harry smiled at the two girls. "Okay, I'll pretend that I understood half of that," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you asked." She smiled as he leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Don't ever change, my love," he whispered.

At that moment an excited Colin Creevey burst into the library, drawing an indignant squawk from Madam Pince. "Harry!" he called out, ignoring the librarian's ire.

Stifling a groan as he sent a mock glare to the two giggling girls, he turned around and faced the overly energetic third-year Gryffindor. "What can I do for you, Colin?" he asked.

"They need you at the Weighing of the Wands ceremony," he said. "The Tournament officials are there with the other Champions and headmasters. Mister Ollivander's there too! Even the _Daily Prophet_ 's there! They're just waiting for you."

Harry scowled. "Are they, now? Well, they're going to be waiting for quite a bit longer. I've already made it perfectly clear that I'm not participating in this farce, and that includes any bloody ceremony or other function attached. Go back and tell them that I send my regrets – but feel free to take your time getting back."

The younger boy looked worried. "Harry, are you sure about this? I mean, your name came out of the Goblet! You could lose your magic!" The very thought of his hero losing his magic practically had Colin in tears.

"I really don't think it'll come to that," Harry said. "Hermione doesn't think it'll work like that, and her word is more than good enough for me. I will say, though, that these people are starting to piss me off. And you can tell them I said that, too."

Taking Harry at his word but still looking doubtful, Colin turned and left the library. Harry stood with a sigh and held out his hands to his girls. "Ladies, shall we relocate? I suspect that they will try to force the issue and it would behove us not to be found."

Hermione scooped up the brochure as she and Luna took Harry's hands and together they left the library. They quickly made it up to the seventh floor without being seen and opened the Room of Requirement. Inside was the same cosy room Luna had brought them to the day she had first approached them.

Harry collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh, followed by the two girls. "They're not going to let it go, are they?" he said. "Somehow, they're going to try to force me to compete."

"It's possible," Hermione allowed. "It's not bloody right though! You shouldn't be forced into something like this! That would never fly in the nonmagical world. With a good solicitor, you'd own the school by the time it was all dealt with."

"Do we really need to stay here?" Harry growled. "Every year is getting more and more dangerous. At this rate I'll be dead before we graduate."

"Just until our OWLs next year," he girlfriend replied. "After that, we can go where we want." At the incredulous looks from her two friends, she laughed. "What? It's no use pursuing an education if you're going to die in the process," she said. "We can self-study for our NEWTs if we want to. We don't _have_ to be enrolled at Hogwarts in order to take them. We don't even have to be here in Britain."

"I'm sure I could do extra study this summer and take my OWLs with you next year," Luna mused. "That way we could all leave together! All we have to do is make it through one more year after this one."

Harry smiled at them both. "You'd really do that for me?" he asked.

Hermione leaned over and placed a gentle yet sensual kiss on his lips. "I am yours and you are mine, now and forever."

"You both stood up for me when no one else would," Luna added. "I don't have enough friends that I can afford to lose my two best ones. My only two," she quietly finished.

Harry took the nearest hand of each girl in his own. "I think it's much better to have two friends you can trust with your life than two hundred friends who will desert you the moment life gets hard," he said.

Hermione and Luna nodded their agreement. "Why don't we hang out here for the rest of the day?" the quirky blonde asked. "I'm sure that the wrackspurts are making the staff tear the castle apart looking for you, but if we just disappear for the rest of the day they're eventually going to have to give up and do the wand weighing without you."

Hermione looked torn for a moment as she considered skiving off the rest of the day's classes, but as they did not have Potions that day she soon gave in. "We may as well," she agreed.

***DIM***

Their afternoon in the room stretched into evening. Using the Marauder's Map and Harry's invisibility cloak, the two girls snuck down to the kitchen and collected a basket of food and drink for their dinner from the house elves. They were able to avoid meeting anyone, and after a filling meal decided that it would be easiest to simply spend the night in the Room rather than return to their dormitories. The Room easily accommodated them, giving them three comfortable beds, one separated from the other two by a divider. Harry, ever the gentleman, insisted that he take the one isolated from the other two, though Luna did offer to take that one and give the couple some alone time.

Needless to say, the next morning the entire Hogwarts staff was in a right strop. Dumbledore was furious that Harry had skipped the Weighing of the Wands, while McGonagall and Flitwick were more upset at the truancy of their students, especially the curfew violations. If Dumbledore was furious, the Ministry officials were livid that Harry would embarrass them like he did by not showing up. Throughout the collective rant, Harry, Hermione, and Luna kept their faces blank except for an expression of bored indifference. All the three would say was that they never left the school, but beyond that kept mum. After points were deducted (though the trio did not so much as bat an eye at that) and detentions assigned (which none planned to attend) they were sent on their way.

They began disappearing more and more, only appearing for classes and returning to their dorms right at curfew. They ignored everyone except for the other two, drawing closer as they made plans for their own mission. As they were the last to arrive to classes and the first to leave, and while in class completed and turned in their assignments in silence, there was not a soul who really had the opportunity to say anything to them. It was not uncommon for them to never return to their dorms at night either. The only exception was their Potions class. Recognizing that Professor Tonks was coming out of her way to assist them, the three fully participated in her class. It helped that they were the only three in the class.

One day during Care of Magical Creatures, not long before the first task of the tournament, Hagrid approached Harry and Hermione and quietly suggested that they meet him at his shack at midnight, and to be sure to wear the invisibility cloak. Wondering what their huge teacher wanted to show them, they agreed.

That night, the curious Gryffindors snuck out of their tower under Harry's cloak and stealthily made their way down to Hagrid's house. At the stroke of midnight, the door of the shack opened, revealing Hagrid and the equally tall Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Harry exchanged a bewildered look with his girlfriend. Judging from the conversation, Hagrid was taking the French headmistress on a romantic moonlit stroll to see something truly magnificent. Why then did he ask for their presence?

The teens followed the larger couple around the edge of the Forbidden Forest and simultaneously gasped when they saw what Hagrid wanted to show them. Up ahead in a paddock lit by bonfires, stood four full-grown dragons. Dragon keepers were working amongst them, trying to get them settled down for the night.

Dragons.

 _Four_ of them.

Harry pressed his lips together in a thin line as his nostrils flared in anger. Goddamn meddling bastards, the lot of them. Hermione's hand found his and squeezed tight. He stayed still, trying to calm himself down while he listened to the dragon keepers yelling at the terrifying beasts and the dragons roaring back.

It took him a couple of minutes before he realized that he could understand what the dragons were saying. It was mostly complaints about being hungry and tired after their long journey from overseas, but he could understand! He squeezed Hermione's hand and gently pulled her back. By unspoken agreement neither said a word as they returned to the castle.

Once inside the Gryffindor common room, Hermione collapsed in her boyfriend's arms. "What the hell are they thinking, Harry?" she whispered. "Dragons for the first task?" Her voice was steady, but he could feel her shaking in his arms.

"I think they've lost their bloody minds, Mione," he sighed. "And they're obviously expecting me to compete too, regardless of what we said in the Great Hall."

She flung her arms around him and squeezed him tight. "I think we need to disappear for that day," she said.

"I agree. I'm going to make sure Cedric knows about the dragons, though."

Despite herself, Hermione smiled. "I love you, Harry Potter. You're still trying to look out for people, but you're not blindly charging into things like a... well, like a Gryffindor."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I told you the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, didn't I?"

"Oh my god!" she giggled. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, but since Malfoy had already introduced himself with such wit and charm I told the Hat to put me anywhere but there."

"Could you imagine Ron's reaction if you'd gone there?" The mirthful twinkle in her eyes rivalled that of Dumbledore at his best.

Harry laughed. "The look on his face would've been priceless!" he said. "And Snape…"

Hermione burst out laughing at that thought. "It's almost a shame you didn't," she said. "I'm sure he would've had a coronary before our first year was over!"

"Yeah, and then we wouldn't have had to suffer through his nonsense anymore. Might've been worth it, except we probably wouldn't have gotten to know each other. For you, I'd be willing to endure seven years of that fucking grease stain."

"Spoke like a gentleman," she teased. "Seriously, I'm glad to have you. And I'm also glad to not have to put up with his bullshit anymore."

"Spoke like a lady," Harry returned with a mischievous smile before leaning down to kiss her gently but passionately on her lips. "Good night, my beloved."

"Goodnight." She kissed him again before they turned and went upstairs to their separate dormitories.

Downstairs in the common room, a disillusioned Headmaster Dumbledore stood quietly by the fireplace. He was glad that young Harry had followed Hagrid and discovered the dragons, just as the headmaster had intended when he'd instructed the half-giant to make the offer, but he was concerned that Harry still had no intention of cooperating. Seeing the four dragons, one for each champion, should have told the boy that he had no choice in the matter! Damn it all, he _needed_ the boy to participate. The Dark Mark tattooed on Severus' arm was growing darker, indicating that Voldemort was returning. He knew that Harry's entry into the tournament was orchestrated by the dark lord, though for what purpose he still wasn't quite sure. He didn't think Voldemort wanted Harry to get killed during the tournament. No, that was a pleasure that Voldemort surely wanted for himself. Besides which, both Harry and Voldemort were protected by the prophecy. Neither of them _could_ be killed except by the other so long as the prophecy was in play. But it was imperative that Harry participate in the tournament. By doing so, he would hopefully draw the dark lord out of hiding and into a direct confrontation. Granted, it was necessary that Voldemort be resurrected first. So long as he remained a wraith he was untouchable. Then, whether Harry survived or not, the search for Voldemort's horcruxes could begin. He didn't know if destroying the cursed soul jars while the dark lord was still a wraith would cause him to die for good or have him forever remain an undead wraith, still capable of possessing the unwary, like the unfortunate Quirinus Quirrell three years ago, and causing pain and misery in the world. If resurrected, though, the horcruxes could be destroyed and then Voldemort would be mortal again. Harry Potter, he was certain, had a horcrux embedded in his famous scar, and that meant that the boy would have to die, for destruction of the container holding the soul shard was the only way to permanently get rid of the abomination. And according to the prophesy Voldemort was the only one who could kill young Harry, just as Harry was the only one who could kill Voldemort – so long as the prophesy was in play. With Harry sacrificing himself and allowing Voldemort to kill him the prophesy would be fulfilled, and anyone could then destroy Voldemort, at least once all the horcruxes were destroyed themselves. And Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was just the wizard for the job, if he said so himself.

But the damned boy just would not cooperate! It looked more and more like he would have to force Harry's participation, but if he and those two chits were going to be in hiding the day of the tournament – given their recent tendencies there was no question that the blonde Lovegood girl would be with Harry and Miss Granger – then his task would be all the more difficult. His first inclination was to use a portkey, but it seemed that the trio had found some place to hide in the castle that no one could locate. He could use a timed portkey, perhaps, but he didn't know exactly when Harry's presence would be required in the arena.

Suddenly he had an idea. Still disillusioned, he crept up the stairs to the fourth-year male dorm. Verifying that the boys were all asleep, he walked over to Harry's bedside table where he found the boy's glasses. For the first time in weeks, Albus Dumbledore smiled.


	6. The First Task

Early on the morning of the First Task, Harry and Hermione awoke, got dressed, and snuck down to the kitchens under the invisibility cloak. After collecting a large basket full of enough food to last the three of them the day, and all carefully placed under warming and preservation charms, they went up to the Ravenclaw tower where they met Luna. Together, the three quickly went to the seventh-floor corridor and the Room of Requirement, careful to avoid Argus Filch, the ornery old caretaker of the school, and Mrs. Norris, his cat that was just as insufferable as he.

The room gave them a rustic entertainment centre with tables for pocket billiards and table tennis on one side of the room. Several dart boards adorned the wall behind the game tables. A bookshelf with popular works of fiction rested against the centre of the back wall, surrounded by comfortable leather sofas and chairs with a cocktail table in the middle. The other side of the room was dominated by a wooden dining table set, complete with chairs. A bar ran along the wall behind the dining area, only lacking taps for beer and shelves of liquor to be complete. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of stained and varnished hardwood, with oriental throw rugs adorning the floor. Warm light was provided by gas lamps all around the room and twin fireplaces framing the bookshelf.

All three were suitably impressed. "We have got to remember this place," Harry said, looking around in awe. "This would be the best party room ever."

Quickly agreeing, Hermione and Luna followed him in and helped him set up their breakfast as they settled in for a relaxing day.

***DIM***

Ludo Bagman, the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was in a bit of a panic. The fourth champion, Harry Potter, had not been seen all day. The young man's outburst at the drawing of the champions had initially concerned him, but Headmaster Dumbledore had assured him that the boy would compete, even after his refusal to participate in the Weighing of the Wands – and _that_ had certainly been an embarrassment for the Ministry. Nevertheless, based on Dumbledore's absolute belief that not only would Potter compete, he would outshine the other champions, Bagman had entered into several significant bets on the boy. True, it was a risk, but with the odds stacked so heavily against the boy, if he won then his other gambling debts to the goblins would be more than covered.

But it was time for the first task to begin and the boy was nowhere in sight! The other three champions were here in the tent, ready to compete, along with their respective headmasters (or headmistress, in the case of Madame Maxime). Barty Crouch Senior was there as well, looking every bit as miffed as Bagman was at the fourth champion's absence. Even the retired auror Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody, current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and head of security for the tournament, was there looking as gruff and unapproachable as ever. Even as Bagman watched, the grizzled professor took a swig from his ever-present hip flask. Merlin, what he wouldn't do for a drink right now.

"Where is he, Dumbledore?" Crouch demanded.

"He will be here, I assure you," the old man replied. "As it is time for the champions to see what they will be facing, however, I suggest that the three present go ahead and draw. Young Harry will simply have to face the one that remains."

The dour head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation scowled at the headmaster's words but nodded his agreement. "Very well. Bagman, get on with it."

After a few cheerful words of welcome, Bagman produced the bag of magically animated miniature dragons and bade the three present champions draw. Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, drew the Welsh Green; Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion, drew the Swedish Short-Snout; and Viktor Krum drew the Chinese Fireball. That meant that Harry Potter would face the Hungarian Horntail, the largest and fiercest of the four, whenever the boy deigned to show up. Bagman proceeded to let the champions know that their task was to retrieve a golden egg from the nest of their assigned dragon. After wishing them luck, he left the tent with Crouch and the headmasters as the five made their way to the judges' table. Though he did his best not to show it, inside Bagman was as nervous a mouse being eyed by a hungry cat. If that blasted child didn't even show up, he stood to lose more gold than he could possibly afford.

***DIM***

The first three champions had completed their tasks well, and the Triwizard Tournament was off to a brilliant start. Albus Dumbledore was overall quite pleased with the performances so far and was eagerly waiting to see what young Harry would do. He wasn't concerned for the boy's safety in the slightest – after all, not everyone could boast that they were actually protected by prophecy. No, he was quite sure that the boy would dazzle them all with his performance during the entire tournament. Hopefully he would see that he was more than capable of competing and would continue the rest of the tournament without making a fuss. The only question was when Voldemort would make his appearance. Somehow, he doubted that it would be so soon, but that wasn't necessarily a given. _Constant Vigilance_ was Alastor Moody's motto, and it was a good one to live by despite lending itself to a certain amount of paranoia.

In the meantime, he had a champion to summon. Anticipating the boy's continued absence, he had charmed Harry's glasses into a portkey that could only be activated by a command word in Dumbledore's voice. After the dragon keepers brought out and tethered the Hungarian Horntail, he cast his patronus and sent it to find Harry.

***DIM***

Luna turned out to be quite the prodigy at darts. Each turn, she got all three of her darts within a quarter inch of each other, in whichever segment she chose. She had just thrown her second dart of this turn, with Harry and Hermione waiting hand in hand for their turns, when a silver phoenix patronus burst into the room. The phoenix went straight for Harry, and Dumbledore's voice intoned "Greater Good." As the patronus faded out, Harry and Hermione both felt the familiar hook-behind-the-navel of a portkey as they disappeared. Luna screamed in fury as her two best friends were taken and charged out of the room, her wand in hand with its tip glowing an angry red. By the gods, heads were going to roll!

***DIM***

Harry went sprawling, pulling Hermione down with him. He had just enough presence of mind to twist around so that he was able to cushion her fall with his own body. She couldn't help giving a small scream of fright as she fell on top of him.

"Are you okay, love?" he said when he regained his breath.

"Yeah, how are you?"

"I'll live," he replied as he looked around. His eyes grew wide as he saw a huge black dragon across a field. Fortunately, its back was to them, but it looked like it was starting to turn around. "Get up!" he said, pushing his girlfriend to her feet. He grabbed her hand and dashed to a nearby boulder, shielding them from the terrible creature. "Fuck!" he growled.

"Harry?"

"It's the first task," he told her.

Realization dawned on her, immediately replaced by rage. "That bastard!" she screamed. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

Harry glanced out from behind the boulder. The dragon had turned around and was facing in their direction. He quickly pulled his head back to safety.

"I'm going to fucking _murder_ that arrogant piece of shit!" Hermione ranted. "He has no right!" Her entire body was shaking, and Harry didn't know whether it was from fear or anger. Probably some of both.

"I'll help you, Mione love," he said, "but first we have to survive the dragon. Any ideas?"

Her brow furrowed in thought for a few moments before she snapped her fingers. "Didn't you tell me you could understand the dragons the other night?" she said.

"That's right," he said. "It didn't really look like the keepers did, though."

"I bet it's because you're a parselmouth," she said. "You could try to talk to the dragon in parseltongue but be prepared to dodge any fire if it doesn't work. I'll try to think of something else in the meantime."

"You want me to try talking to a dragon?" he said. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help a faint smile.

"It never hurts to try," she huffed. "And it's always better to be able to talk your way out of trouble anyway."

"If the other party is reasonable," he said. "Which we will hope that the dragon is."

***DIM***

Dumbledore was pleased when he saw the appearance of Harry but frowned when he saw Miss Granger as well. He honestly hadn't considered the possibility that she'd be dragged along to the arena as well. After a moment's consideration, he gave a mental shrug. Harry was the child of prophesy, not Miss Granger. He'd certainly hate to lose such a bright young witch, even if she was a muggleborn, but if she didn't make it then it certainly wouldn't be the end of the world. He'd just make sure to nudge Ginny Weasley in Harry's direction to offer him comfort at her passing. Miss Weasley would certainly be a more acceptable match for the boy, anyway.

He watched as the couple ducked behind one of the boulders just inside the perimeter of the arena. He couldn't wait to see what Harry's strategy for defeating the dragon would be. Mister Diggory had tried distracting his dragon with a transfigured dog, Miss Delacour had put hers into an enchanted sleep, and Mister Krum had blinded his.

He leaned forward in sudden concern as Harry slowly stepped out from behind the boulder, his arms spread wide and his wand grasped lightly by the tip with his thumb and forefinger. The boy slowly walked forward in an obviously nonthreatening manner. What in Merlin's name was he trying to do?

***DIM***

" _Great Lady, may I speak with you?_ " Harry asked in parseltongue.

He'd never studied draconic expressions, but even he could tell that the dragon was surprised. " _You're a Speaker!_ " she said. " _It has truly been a long time since I have conversed with one. Why are you here today?"_

" _I am Harry Potter. I see that you have a nest of eggs,_ " Harry said, his voice and demeanour polite. " _I would first like to tell you that I have no ill intent whatsoever toward you or your eggs, and I am prepared to swear a magical oath to that effect. As for why I am here, it seems that we both have been brought here against our will by the people at that table._ " He gestured to the judges' table, where the two Ministry heads and the three headmasters sat. " _The sole purpose for us being brought here today is to provide barbaric entertainment for the masses like the gladiators of old."_

The dragon turned a baleful eye to the indicated table. _"They dare?"_ she growled.

" _Brazenly so,"_ Harry replied. _"Just as you are worried about the safety of your offspring, I am worried about the safety of my beloved, who like me has been brought to this arena against her will. I can only assume that the bastards who brought us here today intend for us to fight, but I would deny them that pleasure if you are willing._ "

The dragon snorted. " _I am only concerned with my eggs,_ " she said. " _I have no interest in providing entertainment for anyone, especially at the risk of my children._ "

Harry nodded. " _It was truly irresponsible of the organizers to involve them,_ " he agreed. " _What would you do if you were freed?"_

She gave him a long, searching look. " _I would take my children away from the two-legs,_ " she said wistfully. " _I would find a place to raise them where they would not be disturbed, and when they grow up I would see them find their own places in the world._ "

The young man studied the dragon carefully. She was tethered with an iron collar locked around her neck, attached to a long chain anchored to a large iron pole driven deep into the rocky ground. " _If you will permit me, Great Lady, I will unlock your collar and my beloved and I will help you collect your eggs so that you may depart from here._ "

" _You would do that for me?_ "

Harry stared deep into her eyes and nodded. Seeing his sincerity, she lifted her head, exposing the collar. The young man carefully raised his wand and cast a simple unlocking spell. As the collar fell off, he turned toward the boulder his girlfriend was behind. "Hermione!" he called. When she peeked out from behind her cover he motioned for her to join them.

A short discussion and a large transfigured box later, the dragon was ready to take flight. " _Hermione's transfigurations are much better than mine,_ " Harry explained. " _The box for your eggs should last for about twelve hours or so. I don't know how far you can fly in that time, but I thought you might like to know that the Forbidden Forest here covers a lot of land. There is likely to be someplace within that you can raise your children._ "

The dragon nodded. " _You have much honour for a two-legs, Harry Potter. My name is Emberstryke. It would not be unpleasant if we were to meet again someday._ "

" _I would like that,_ " Harry said with a smile. He raised his hand and the majestic black dragon leaned her head down and touched it with her nose before she extended her wings, grabbed the box containing her eggs, and leapt into the air.

The entire arena watched in stunned silence as the Boy-Who-Lived actually talked with a dragon, even _touched_ it, all without being attacked. And now the dragon was lifting off with its eggs, leaving only the golden egg untouched on the ground behind.

The two teens stood hand in hand as Emberstryke swooped around the arena. " _Now for you bastards,_ " she growled as she angled her flight path directly toward the judges' table. Only Harry heard her words as she passed over his head. As she neared the table, she opened her mouth and spewed forth a blazing torrent of dragonfire at the five judges. She pulled up at the last moment and shot over the screaming crowd, and within seconds disappeared in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

Back in the arena, pandemonium reigned. Conjured jets of water from scores of wands swept toward the judges' table, now engulfed in flame. Ignoring the golden egg, Harry led his girlfriend to the arena wall under the burning judges' table and blasted a hole through the barricade. Shoving people aside, the young man stalked up the steps, rage burning in his eyes. He was only peripherally aware of the blackened, motionless bodies of what had been Ludo Bagman and Igor Karkaroff, or the scorched, blistered figure of Barty Crouch feebly whimpering in shock and agony, or the slightly singed, heavily drenched, and visibly shaken figure of Olympe Maxime struggling to her feet. No, he was focused on Albus Dumbledore, who lay just beside the charcoal corpse of Karkaroff. The Hogwarts headmaster's right arm was in much the same condition as the late Durmstrang headmaster, and his face was charred and blistered while his beard and hair were burnt to stubble as well. His once gaudy, colourful robes were now scorched and ragged. The nauseatingly sweet and sulphurous stenches of overcooked meat and burnt hair mixed with the more familiar odours of soot and ash as smoky grey steam rose from the carnage.

"You complete, utter bastard," Harry hissed at the critically wounded man. "I should cut your fucking throat right here, right now."

The boy's words cut through the haze of anguish that crippled Dumbledore. Eyes widening in panic, he struggled to raise his wand. The crisp, peeling skin of his arm split open in multiple places at his efforts, rending the seared flesh all the way to the bone and sending further waves of agony shooting throughout his body. The old man could not stop the scream of pain that escaped his lips. It was all he could do to simply hold on to the wand.

Harry's face twisted into a scowl. He casually flicked his wand and disarmed the headmaster as Hermione kept a wary eye out on the surrounding crowd. Dumbledore's wand flew from his cracked, blackened fingers and sailed into the young man's waiting grasp.

The moment the wand touched Harry's palm, he was inundated with promises of raw power. He fell to his knees as he was swept away with visions of the future, where there was a new magical world with a new ruling class, himself at the head. None dared stand against him as he established a society based on merit and ability. The old ways of blood purity were swept away, and all who opposed him died at his own hands. The heads of Voldemort and Dumbledore were impaled on pikes and put in magical stasis to serve as a constant reminder to those who might think of rebellion. He was the Dark Lord to end all dark lords and ruled from an iron throne, dressed in robes of black and deep burgundy. At his side were his Dark Ladies, as terrible as they were beautiful, Hermione on his right and Luna on his left. As frightening as the vision was, he felt a desire for that future tugging deep in his soul. All he had to do was claim the power of the wand that Death itself had created, the most powerful wand in existence, the wand that was now rightfully his. He looked again at the vision of their future selves, looked deep into their eyes, and for a brief moment transcended time itself.

In his own future self's eyes, he saw a depth of cruelty and rage that threatened to consume not only him but the world itself. Those were the eyes of a soul that had the blood of millions on its hands yet cared not. If that wasn't bad enough, the cold, calculating look on the Dark Lady Hermione's face chilled him to the bone. There was not a hint of warmth or love in the cinnamon-brown eyes that meant so much to him. It was Luna, though, that shattered his heart. Gone was the wide-eyed innocence that he and Hermione both wanted to protect from the world. It was replaced by the sadistic insanity of a monster that revelled in cruelty and the agony of other people, a creature that made the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange look sane.

"No," he whispered in horror.

 _You will do this! You know you want it!_

"No!"

 _WIELD ME!_

"NEVER!"

Breaking out of the nightmare vision of the future, he lunged to his feet, taking the wand in both hands. He could feel the wand fighting back, pulses of energy thrumming rhythmically through his mind and body as the wand sought to bend him to its will. He flexed his hands, and as the wand bent he could feel its efforts redoubling.

"What are you doing, you stupid boy!" Dumbledore bellowed. Ignoring his injuries, he surged to his feet, his hands reaching out to grab the wand.

Seeing that Harry was focused entirely on the wand in his hands, Hermione leapt forward and punched Dumbledore in the face, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling back. She followed up with a stunning hex along with leg lock, petrification, and binding jinxes for good measure.

A moment later, the wand, glowing with energy by this point, snapped. A concussive blast knocked everyone back as the wand shattered into hundreds of pieces.

***DIM***

At that exact moment, in Dumbledore's office, several things happened. The most dramatic was a morose phoenix suddenly standing up tall on its perch as the dark curse shackling it with an unnatural bond disintegrated. Flaring its wings, it gave a triumphant cry and immediately burst into flame, setting its perch ablaze as it disappeared without a further trace. At the same time, a multitude of odd, silver instruments gathered on a shelf behind the headmaster's desk ceased all movements and noises. Their sudden lack of movement just happened to coincide with the collapse of a particular set of wards around a certain house in Little Whinging, Surrey. The wards in question prevented any sort of magical travel, either in or out, and redirected all incoming mail addressed to one "Harry James Potter." Although there were supposed to be a series of blood wards in place as well, keyed to his Aunt Petunia, those had been non-existent from almost the time the young boy had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep way back in 1981.

***DIM***

Not far from the judges' table, a concerned Minerva McGonagall didn't know which way to turn. Two of her lions had appeared in the arena for this ridiculous tournament, not just the one that was supposedly the fourth champion. Rather than fight, Harry had released the dragon, which had proceeded to attack the judges, and then blasted his way out of the arena instead of going to the exit. He had ignored the golden egg, the whole point of this bloody task, and instead helped the dragon collect her real eggs. The dragon handlers were not going to be happy, she knew. Not only were they losing one of their dragons but an entire clutch of eggs as well.

As her two lions left the arena through the hole Harry had blasted through the wall, the man next to her suddenly glowed for a moment, then began convulsing and foaming at the mouth. Lunging forward, he vomited a foul-smelling black liquid over the rail onto the concourse below.

"Alastor?" she asked. "Whatever is the matter?"

The retired auror growled but did not answer. He staggered to his feet and started running but did not get very far before he cramped up again. Even as McGonagall watched, the familiar features of her fellow professor began melting away, only to be replaced by the more youthful face of someone she'd long thought dead. Scowling, she stunned and immobilized him before levitating him as she searched for the aurors to turn him in.

***DIM***

As the wand exploded in his hands, Harry felt like a series of belts was suddenly released inside him. His magic flowed smoother than ever before, and it seemed that he had even more on which to call. He took a deep breath, ignoring the taste of smoke and death on the air. Giving a disgusted look at the bound and unconscious headmaster, he turned to his girlfriend and flung his arms around her. He didn't say anything, but simply held her. Sensing his distress but sure he'd tell her about it later, she returned his embrace without a word. The frightened witches and wizards worked around them to assist the injured judges, none of them willing to say anything to the couple. Finally, he pulled back. "Mione, we need to find Luna," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Oh shit. She probably thinks we got eaten or something!"

Their hands clasped together, they made their way down the arena seating to the ground where they saw a familiar blonde running toward them, a terrifying expression on her face and her wand in her hand. As she saw her two best friends, her countenance of righteous fury melted away into tearful relief. She sank to her knees sobbing as her friends knelt beside her and took her in their arms. "Thank the gods you're okay," she wept.

Harry and Hermione comforted their friend, helping her to her feet as her sobs subsided. "Let's go back to our room," Harry said. The two girls immediately agreed, and the trio disappeared.

***DIM***

"Albus Dumbledore, you are a damned fool." Madam Pomfrey glared at her patient as he struggled to sit up. The infirmary was full today. In addition to the three surviving judges, the burnt corpses of the other two lay on gurneys in a private room that was temporarily doubling as a morgue. On top of that, several other beds contained students, faculty, or other spectators who had been injured in the panicked stampede after the dragon attacked the judges.

The headmaster looked at the clean white bandages wrapped around the stump of his right arm, still not comprehending that he'd lost it.

"If you had just lain there calmly, without moving, there was a chance that I could have saved your arm," Pomfrey continued. "Even with dragonfire. But you getting all worked up like you did – trying to use your damned wand, even! – that sealed your fate. You're damned lucky all you lost was your arm."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Poppy, it is imperative that you let me go," he said. "If you do not, I fear young Harry will be forever lost to us. I need to find him and bring him back under control."

"You _need_ to lay back and do as I tell you, Albus," she snapped. "What little is left of your core is still severely unstable. You were blasted with _dragonfire_ , you daft fool. You know as well as I that the only magical fire more potent is fiendfyre. If you start flinging spells around like you usually do you'll squib yourself. I'll not be having you doing that on _my_ watch, Headmaster. According to my scans, you'll be in my care for at _least_ a week. No arguments! Now, you lay back down there voluntarily or by Merlin I'll be having you immobilized and sedated."

Grumbling, Dumbledore complied. "By the way, what happened to my wand, Poppy?"

She sighed and cast an immobilizing spell at him, already knowing his reaction. "Mr. Potter snapped it," she said. Judging from his suddenly dilated eyes and paleness, she knew she'd done right to immobilize him. "It frankly looked like the wand was trying to possess him," she continued. "When it snapped, it exploded. I don't think there's anything bigger than a splinter left."

***DIM***

"It seems that we know who put Mr. Potter's name in the Goblet," Professor McGonagall said. "Furthermore, it would appear that Miss Granger's theory was correct."

"Indeed," Professor Flitwick observed. He had been summoned by McGonagall to a meeting along with Professor Sprout and was surprised to find that they were joined by Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That surprise was nothing, though, compared to the stunned and bound figure that McGonagall showed them, especially when she revealed that the man's magic was gone. Even Director Bones was shocked at the Deputy Headmistress' revelation.

"Barty Crouch Junior," Bones said, shaking her head. "Unbelievable. All this time we thought he'd died in Azkaban, and he was free."

"And up to his old tricks too," Professor Sprout added, glaring at the unconscious man.

"I think it would be quite informative to have his father placed under veritaserum as soon as he recovers," the DMLE head continued. "I assure you, we will get to the bottom of this." She already had a list of questions for both the Death Eater and his father, not least of which was why Crouch Junior was thought to have died in prison all those years ago. Of more immediate import was why he was masquerading as Mad-Eye Moody and why he'd entered Potter into the tournament. As Crouch Junior had been the most rabid follower of Voldemort, second only to that raving bitch Lestrange, she had a sinking feeling that she would not like the answers.

***DIM***

"With all due respect, Professor, the three of us are this close to telling all of Britain to sod off completely, not just Hogwarts." Harry told his Head of House. "We have had it with the constant bullying and bigotry all three of us have experienced since we've stepped foot inside this school. We have to put up with miserable cretins like Malfoy spewing his bile and getting away with it because his _daddy_ knows which palms to grease. We have one of the most brilliant minds to grace Ravenclaw constantly having her clothes, shoes, and school supplies stolen, not to mention repeatedly being locked out of her dormitory overnight. Why? Simply because she has a different perspective on life than the others. And the staff that is supposed to take care of us, make sure that we are able to maximise our education experience? The ones we should be able to come to if we're struggling with _anything?_ Not only can most not be bothered, we have at least one who is such a colossal prick that he is the _worst_ bully in this whole bloody school, students included! To top it all off, _every_ bloody year we have attended our very _lives_ have been in jeopardy! First year, not only does the headmaster casually mention that there is a risk of a horrible death, Lord _fucking_ Voldemort himself is actually hired on as one of the professors! Second year, a bloody _basilisk_ is running around the school, and it apparently takes a second-year student to figure it out! Third year, every student here is in danger of having their _souls_ sucked out by the same creatures that the Ministry in its infinite bloody wisdom decides to place here, supposedly for _our_ protection. This year, we have a supposedly deceased Death Eater posing as a professor, not to mention this gigantic clusterfuck of a tournament that certain people seem to think I must participate in, regardless of the fact that I never even entered the damned contest to begin with. And let's certainly not forget a certain headmaster who has had an unhealthy and frankly _disturbing_ interest in me for my entire bloody life, and who insists that I return to my own personal hell each summer. Believe me, even with Voldemort trying to murder me almost every bloody year, even with Malfoy doing his best to make _me_ murder _him_ , even with _Snape_ projecting his childish hatred of my father onto me every time he gets anywhere near me, I much prefer living in _this_ bloody asylum than with those monsters that Dumbledore has the nerve to call my _family._ " The sheer disgust he held for the Dursleys was unmistakable as he spat the word. "I'm sorry, Professor, but right now our headmaster inspires about as much confidence in us as Minister Fudge does. And after his behaviour last year when we tried to tell him the truth about Sirius and Pettigrew, I'm sure you can tell how much we trust _him_. Frankly, all three of us would like to live beyond our teenage years, and we are of the same mind that if we continue here at this madhouse of a school that that will not happen. It was not an easy decision to reach, but we've decided that it will be much safer for all of us if we leave and receive private tutelage instead. We were hoping to stay at least through OWLs, but when your own headmaster turns your glasses into a bloody portkey for the sole purpose of dumping you in an arena with a big fucking dragon – and incidentally causing you to drag your girlfriend along for the ride – well, I hope you can see that our continued safety is very much in question. Madam Tonks has already agreed to continue our lessons in Potions, as well as Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. We've also contacted Professor Lupin, who has agreed to tutor us in Defence, Herbology, and Charms. My godfather will also help with Defence, along with Transfiguration, Astronomy, and History."

McGonagall sighed as she rubbed her temples. "Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I cannot argue with your points. As much as I hate to see the three of you leave us, the picture you paint certainly makes me question our standards here. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that it has come to this point, even more so since we learned that you do not actually have to participate in the tournament. We can only hope that this shock will be sufficient to spark some changes around here. If those changes were sufficient, would you consider coming back to us?"

Harry exchanged a look with the girls. "Honestly, I think it's still too early to tell," he said. "I can say, though, that unless Dumbledore and Snape are banned from the school forever, and the remaining staff takes a hard stand against bullying and bigotry in _any_ form – and that includes forms like Ronald Weasley's bigotry against anything Slytherin – we will not even consider returning."

The professor shook her head. "While I wouldn't necessarily have an issue with your conditions, I can tell you that the headmaster will not willingly step down from his position. And so long as he is here, he will protect Professor Snape."

"I know," Harry said as he gave a disgusted sigh. "That old man needs to remember that he's running a school here, not a proving ground for experimental weapons against dark lords."

"Quite." McGonagall looked over the withdrawal papers once more. "It seems that everything is in order, then. You have all the correct guardian signatures. I see you were even able to get Sirius Black to sign off on your paperwork."

"His signature was considered valid by the headmaster for the purpose of Hogsmeade visits, so the old man can't complain about its validity for the purpose of transfer either."

"He probably will, though. Once he's out of the infirmary, anyway."

"I know. He can't let his tool go off on its own. It doesn't matter, though. Once we step outside the wards, he has no authority over us."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry that I've failed to inspire any more confidence than I have. I wish you the very best, and I think it will likely be a few more days before Albus learns that you've left. It wouldn't do to give him any information that could slow his recovery time, would it?"

The three teens gave her a warm smile. "Thanks for understanding, Professor," Harry said.

***DIM***

The trio was escorted to the front gates of the school that evening by Professor McGonagall herself. Filch glowered at them all as he passed them in the entry hall, but as they were accompanied by the Deputy Headmistress he held his tongue. To hide the fact that they were leaving, they had left their trunks containing their clothes, textbooks, and school supplies in their dormitories, with the understanding that a school elf would bring them once they reached their destination. Their important belongings, such as Harry's Firebolt and the Marauder's Map, were shrunken and in their pockets, and Crookshanks was curled up in Hermione's arms. Harry had already sent Hedwig out from the owlery, and the gorgeous snowy white owl was already winging her way to London.

Frost was already starting to form on the grass in the late autumn twilight, and puffs of cloudy vapour formed with each breath, only to dissipate in the chilly air a moment later. Up ahead, past the iron gates of the school, the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade could be seen in the distance.

As they neared the gates, a shadow broke away from a tree on the other side. "Is that you, Pup?" a voice familiar to three of them whispered.

"Hello, Padfoot," Harry whispered back. "We're all here."

"Good. Thanks for bringing them here, Minerva."

"You take good care of them, Sirius. And yourself," the Gryffindor head replied. There was a slight hitch in her voice as she admonished her former student.

"With my life," Sirius Black replied. After a heartfelt goodbye, Sirius took Hermione's and Luna's hands and side-along apparated them away. Thirty seconds later he reappeared, took his godson's hand, and they too disappeared.

The walk back to the school was a long one for the thoughtful Transfiguration professor. She was still re-evaluating everything she knew about one Albus Dumbledore, especially in light of everything that had been revealed so far this year. Though she was loath to admit it, she was finding the Headmaster to be severely wanting. She knew his old habits of hoarding information until it was almost past the point of being useful, and as such she felt that he had his reasons for allowing events to transpire as they had, but for the life of her she couldn't see how _anything_ could be so important as to wilfully allow people's lives to be ruined. She was taken aback at the venom in Harry's voice as he'd talked about the Dursleys, and not for the first time she wished that she'd insisted that Albus reconsider his decision to leave the infant Harry on their doorstep. It was easy to see that the young man _hated_ those people. She couldn't help feeling a certain amount of guilt for not standing up for him back then. She'd had a bad feeling about the Dursleys after watching them for a day, but had allowed Albus to coerce her into accepting his plan. After all, he was the Leader of the Light, wasn't he? Surely he knew best. What most people had forgotten, though, was that the war was scant weeks away from being lost when Voldemort was inadvertently destroyed. In other words, if it hadn't been for an unexplained accident, Albus Dumbledore would have led the forces of Light straight into the grave. Yet the public perspective was such that a significant amount of credit was given him simply for overseeing the side that benefitted from that accident. Well, she was done following him blindly. From now on, she would take a page from the _real_ Moody's book and question everyone and everything. She owed Harry that, at least.

***DIM***

Harry reappeared clutching his godfather's hand, which was the only thing that kept him from falling flat on his face. "Why does magical travel suck so much?" he muttered.

Sirius laughed as he clapped his godson on the shoulder. "You'll get the hang of it, Pup, don't worry."

Harry looked around at the decrepit neighbourhood. Dim streetlamps illuminated a row of old, rundown townhouses with faded, peeling paint and ill-kept wrought-iron fences. Trash littered the broken sidewalk and street, and the less said about the gutters the better. A nervous Hermione stood nearby, tightly holding Luna's hand. Their blonde friend seemed unconcerned, only curious. "Where the hell are we, Padfoot?" he asked.

Sirius gestured for the teens to gather around. "Black Manor is located at 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London," he whispered. A moment later, it appeared to the teens that an even dingier townhouse sprang up between numbers 11 and 13 in front of them. Harry arched his eyebrows in surprise. While having a home hidden away like this was certainly beneficial, from the outside the manor looked less inviting than the rest of the neighbourhood.

"It's under a fidelius charm, isn't it?" Hermione said.

"Got it in one," Sirius chuckled.

Though his godfather's tone was light, Harry could see that it was also forced to an extent. There was a tension in the older man's eyes that led him to believe that Sirius was not happy to be here. "What's the matter, Sirius?" he quietly asked.

The smile left the man's face as he let out a heartfelt sigh. "I hate this place with a passion," he admitted. "It holds nothing but bad memories for me. If it wasn't protected by the fidelius, I wouldn't even be bringing you kids here. We need to get inside quickly, though – the neighbours will no doubt get suspicious of four people loitering out here. Just please be careful of what you touch, and be as quiet as you can in the entry hall." At their questioning looks, he shook his head. "I'll tell you more inside," he promised. He walked up the steps to the front door and opened it, a scowl on his face. The trio quickly followed him, not willing to remain outside after dark in a seedy part of town any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Inside, Sirius placed his index finger in front of his lips, gesturing with his other hand toward a closed set of threadbare velvet curtains on the wall by the staircase before waving them into a living room dimly lit with gas lamps and a burning fireplace. Gently closing the door behind them, he banished the dust from the available couches and chairs, then invited them to have a seat before sinking into an overstuffed easy chair himself. Still not comfortable in the dark and spooky townhouse, the three sat on a sofa, Harry in the middle and the girls holding tightly to his arms.

After clearing his throat, Harry glanced around the shabby chamber. Judging by the condition of the room, the house had been abandoned for years. Cobwebs were noticeable, even in the darkened corners, and dust was everywhere. "Padfoot," he said, "I can't tell you how grateful we are to get away from that madhouse of a school. Your letter said you had a safe place for us where neither Death Eaters nor Dumbledore can find us. I assume that meant here, and while I agree that us remaining undetected by them is of supreme importance, I can't help feeling some… _reservations_ about this place."

The laugh Sirius gave was devoid of humour. "You don't have to sugar-coat it, Pup. This place is a fucking rubbish tip. My dear _mother_ , may her soul remain eternally damned in the ninth circle of Hell, had completely lost her mind by the time she quit this mortal realm. She never did anything to make this a warm home, even when I lived here – I'm pretty sure she went out of her way to make it as unpleasant and unwelcoming as she herself was. She spent the last few years of her life here, all alone except for a deranged house elf who is just as much a blood bigot and just as disagreeable as she is. That's her picture on the wall by the stairs, covered with drapes. Any loud noises and she starts screaming louder than Molly Weasley's howlers about blood traitors, mudbloods, and anything else she deems a taint to the house of her fathers. So yeah, this place needs a serious cleaning, but that damned elf messes things up about as fast as they can get cleaned."

"Have you tried taking the picture down?"

"Believe me, I've tried, and the goblins that were here to set up the fidelius charm tried. Nothing worked."

Harry thought for a moment. "I suppose you could also try basilisk venom, or fiendfyre if you can keep it under control, or even just cut out the section of wall around the portrait."

His godfather blinked. "That might be worth looking into," he agreed. "I'll threaten her with fiendfyre the next time she starts screaming and see what happens. In the meantime, I need you three to understand that my family historically has never been the nicest of people, and as such there are quite a few dark artefacts that the Blacks have collected over the years…"


	7. Signs, Portents, and Treasure

Albus Dumbledore, needless to say, was livid when he finally escaped the infirmary and learned that Harry was no longer at Hogwarts. He immediately summoned McGonagall to his office where he proceeded to tear into her for allowing the boy to leave, but this time she stood her ground and fought back. They screamed at each other for the better part of three hours before the Deputy Headmistress left, vowing every retribution short of a blood feud if he didn't leave her cub alone. It wasn't until she left that Dumbledore noticed that the instruments he used to track Harry's location, health, and safety were all motionless. As he began cursing, his eyes fell on the empty, burnt perch that his phoenix Fawkes usually sat upon. The stress of losing his familiar, his weapon Harry Potter, his wand arm, and the Elder Wand itself was too much and triggered a small heart attack. He soon found himself right back in the infirmary under the care once more of an increasingly unsympathetic Poppy Pomfrey.

***DIM***

Just north of Cambridge and stretching around to the west and north sides of the square-shaped bay a hundred miles north of London called the Wash (the same bay Sirius Black had been carried into by the currents of the North Sea after his escape from Azkaban) lay a fifteen-hundred square mile system of low-lying wetlands and marshes called the Fens. Sparsely populated for the most part during much of Britain's history, with scattered villages and hamlets forming on some of the higher ground, drainage efforts in the 19th and 20th centuries resulted in much of the Fens becoming some of the most fertile farmland in all of Britain. The villages grew into towns, but most of the arable land was occupied by isolated farmsteads separated by a patchwork of thousands of fields growing wheat, barley, potatoes, sugar-beets, peas, decorative flowers, and more, all interlaced with rivers and channels.

Late one cloudy night along the Nene River, one of the four major rivers that fed the Wash, a dozen shadowy figures emerged from the waters and crept up the muddy bank. They crossed a narrow road that ran parallel to the waterway and approached a small farmhouse on the other side of a wooden fence. Even though the small town of Sutton Bridge was less than two miles away, with a few other farms in between, this farmhouse was still one of the more isolated ones. One figure who was larger than the others and seemed to be the leader spoke in a low voice that sounded more akin to a series of grunts and croaks than an actual language. Nonetheless, the group split in two and flanked the house; one group, including the speaker, approaching by the front walk through the hedge row and up to the front door; and the other crossing through the garden and taking up an ambush position by the back door.

The clouds broke up for a moment, allowing silver moonlight to bathe the Fens in its radiance. The figures were revealed to be grotesque, scaly humanoid creatures with odd, fishlike heads and protruding, never-blinking eyes. Each had a ridge much like the dorsal fin of a fish that started at the head and extended down the bulk of the tail. Each one carried a strange, spear-like weapon of some kind, some with a single jagged point but others with three, much like a trident.

The speaker went up to the front door and muttered a few words in its odd, croaking language. The doorknob glowed for a moment before the creature opened it and stepped inside, followed by the others. A few minutes later, a few scuffling noises and grunts could be heard from inside. It wasn't long before the creatures reappeared, bearing five limp figures. Three were noticeably smaller than the other two.

The two groups reassembled and retraced their steps back to the river, where they disappeared beneath the waters with barely a ripple.

It wasn't until the next day when a passing neighbour, noticing the front door still wide open, reported the entire Ferguson family missing, with bloodstains in each bedroom. The only clues were the strange, unidentifiable footprints on the riverbank nearby. The local constabulary was in an uproar as this was the third such disappearance in two weeks.

***DIM***

The three young magic-users were enjoying their time together at Grimmauld Place, despite its gloomy appearance and psychotic resident house elf. They were soon introduced to the screaming shrew known as Walburga Black, but after Sirius started the spell to summon fiendfyre she immediately, albeit sullenly, shut up. Horrified at the potential treatment of his beloved mistress's portrait, Kreacher, the Blacks' house elf, even shaped up a little and started cleaning the townhouse. Granted, he grumbled and complained the entire time he worked, but the overall quality of his work improved tremendously.

As they had promised to Professor McGonagall, the three teens continued with their studies. It turned out that Madam Andromeda Tonks was actually Sirius Black's cousin. Never believing that her favourite cousin could have ever betrayed the Potters, she was ecstatic to see him. They were soon joined by Remus Lupin, who reluctantly accepted one of the many rooms in the Black home. Between Sirius badgering him and the teens pleading that it would be more convenient for their studies if he were there, he was finally persuaded that none of them would consider it charity if he were to move in. As they were no longer in a formal educational setting, the adults all insisted that the teens address them familiarly. Sirius and Remus preferred their respective Marauder nicknames of Padfoot and Moony, while Andromeda invited them to call her Andy.

Andromeda and her husband Ted also had a daughter named Nymphadora who was several years older than the three teens. She was currently wrapping up her auror training and so wasn't able to meet them often during the week, but most weekends she would stop by and teach the teens some of the combat skills she'd learned in her training. She preferred going by her last name, as she wasn't that fond of her first name, but grudgingly tolerated them calling her Dora. She was also a metamorphmagus, a magic-user who had the natural capability of changing her appearance at will. She manifested her talent primarily through her hair, preferring wild colours and styles. Her hair was usually pink and cut in a punk-rock style. Coupled with her torn and faded jeans, leather jacket, and various t-shirts advertising different magical and mundane rock bands, the three younger teens found in her a kindred spirit and fun older sister.

They hadn't been out of Hogwarts a week before they decided to visit Freemason's Hall and see if they could find out anything regarding the Templar treasure. One afternoon they flooed to the Leaky Cauldron but went out the front door into nonmagical London rather than visit Diagon Alley. "This way," Hermione said as she turned right and started walking north on Charing Cross Road. "We'll take a right on Cranbourn, cross over to Long Acre, and keep going a few blocks. After we cross Drury Lane, Long Acre turns into Great Queen Street and the Hall is right there on the corner where Great Queen splits with Wild Street."

Harry nodded as he took her hand, but Luna was looking around at the busy London street in awe and almost missed them turning up the sidewalk. Sighing, Hermione reached back and took her blonde friend's arm. "Stay with us, Luna dear. We don't want to lose you out here."

Giving her best female friend a warm smile, Luna stood on her tiptoes and gave the bushy-haired girl a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Hermione," she said. "It's so good to have friends like you and Harry!"

The trio made their way through the bustling throngs, passing small shops, pubs, and restaurants. None of the passers-by gave them a second look until they were midway to their destination. An unkempt man with long, tangled grey hair and a matted beard was sitting in the boarded-up doorway of an abandoned shop, a floppy green hat upside down on the sidewalk in front of him. The hat contained mostly coins but there were several pound notes in it as well. The man's threadbare coat was that same faded green as his hat and was cut in what looked like a military fashion. A patch over one breast pocket proclaimed _US Army_.

As the trio passed by, almost missing him completely, the man called out, "Harry Potter!"

Harry whipped his head around, instinctively placing himself between the stranger and the girls. "What do you want?" he said warily as the man rose to his feet.

Once on his feet, the man lifted his face. Harry took a step back as the girls both gasped in shock.

The man was obviously blind. Not whitened eyes or cataracts, but two gaping sockets where his eyes used to be. A horrific pattern of scarring across his face suggested that he had perhaps lost his sight from an old war injury.

"How…did you know?" a stunned Harry Potter asked.

"Doesn't matter," the man said with a strong American accent. "Only thing matters is, you're runnin outta time. _Things_ are startin to move. _Old_ things, from before mankind ever started. And if _they're_ movin, you can bet your last dollar it won't be long til their masters will be too. You don't want that, believe me."

In spite of himself, Harry felt a shiver go up his spine. "What are you talking about?"

"You gotta stop the hunter, kid, and soon. The fabric of space and time, of reality itself, is unravellin. Evil from beyond the stars is comin. And when it gets here, it could destroy us all." He gave the nervous trio a lopsided smile and returned to his seat in the doorway. "Trust your seer, boy. She won't lead you astray. Neither of your girls will. Now get goin! You've got work to do."

"Who are you?"

"No one special. I'm just here to pass on the message. You won't be seein me again."

The shaken teens continued on their way, giving the old man a sideways look as they left, but he ignored them. Once out of sight, Luna faced the other two. "There was something off about that man," she said. "He was there, but at the same time he wasn't. And I couldn't see the slightest hint of an aura, either."

"Is that bad?" Harry wanted to know.

"Even nonmagicals have a bit of an aura, Harry. Even plants and animals have an aura. But this man didn't, and I have no idea what it could mean."

"It sounded like we need to hurry, though. To be honest, that's a piece of advice I don't mind taking at all. I'm just glad we don't have to worry so much about school anymore."

Putting the strange blind man to the back of their minds, the trio continued on to Freemason's Hall. The building soon came into view, its distinctive tower over the front entrance rising up over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. While the building site had been used by the Masons since 1775, the current (and third) building was opened in 1933. Built in the classic Art Deco style, it was originally conceived as a memorial to the Freemasons who were killed in action during World War I. Now, in addition to the twenty-four temples, or meeting rooms, including the famous Grand Temple, the Hall contained the Library and Museum of Freemasonry, admin offices, workshops, board rooms, archives, and storage space for the property of the hundreds of Masonic lodges that met in the building.

All in all, it was an impressive sight, and the task before the three teens became all the more imposing for it.

They decided to join one of the free public tours of the building in order to get a better idea of the structure. Hermione had been here once before on a trip with her primary school, but this was the first time the other two had ever seen the magnificence of nonmagical architecture and interior design. Luna, of course, had lived all her life in the magical world, and Harry had never been given permission by the Dursleys to attend any of the school outings – and they certainly hadn't been willing to take him anywhere unless they absolutely had to.

Fortunately, the awe in which they looked around the majestic Grand Temple was mirrored on the faces of most of the rest of the tour group as well. It was a truly magnificent room, considered by many to be one of the most beautiful in all of London. The doors to the chamber alone were impressive in their own right. Made from solid bronze and weighing one and a quarter tonne apiece, each depicted four scenes in relief in what looked to be ancient Egyptian-style art. The bottom three on each door appeared to be various scenes representing aspects of architecture, while the top on each seemed to be some sort of Hebrew ceremony.

Inside the chamber, though, was absolutely breath-taking. Three golden thrones sat at the far end of the Temple on a dais covered with royal blue carpet, surrounded by several rows of golden-framed chairs with matching royal blue cushions, each adorned with the coat of arms of the United Grand Lodge of England. Behind them and down the sides of the Temple were more rows of comfortable theatre-style fold-down seats, all in royal blue. A golden pipe organ dominated the walls behind the thrones, and the recessed ceiling high overhead was decorated with a beautiful mosaic. Depicted at each corner of the mosaic were figures representing the four cardinal virtues – Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude, and Justice. In the dead centre of the ceiling, set against a stylized night sky, was a sixteen-pointed starburst.

After the tour, and after spending a few minutes in the Library and Museum, they left the Hall and stopped at a nearby café to discuss their next step.

"I don't think we can go inside and just duck into a washroom to disillusion ourselves," Hermione said. "I'm sure there are cameras up, not to mention it would be suspicious if three people disappeared in the washroom for a lengthy time."

"So we'll need to disillusion ourselves outside the Hall and sneak in," Harry said. "Can we stack a notice-me-not charm on top of the disillusionment?"

"I don't see why not," Hermione said.

"It's pretty crowded out here, though," Luna observed. "Is there someplace out of sight where we can cast our spells?"

"We can look around when we've finished our tea. I'm sure we can find a place."

After paying for their drinks, the trio left the café and strolled around the area in search for an ideal location. It wasn't long before they found a narrow alleyway branching off from Wild Street behind the Hall. Given the lack of pedestrians and an abundance of rubbish bins, not to mention all the backdoors to various shops, they assumed that this would be the best place to disappear from view without violating the Statute of Secrecy. They were briefly disconcerted as the ground shook for a few seconds, almost as if a large freight train passed by, but as the tremors dissipated after only seconds had passed with no further occurrence they gave it no more thought. As it was nearing dinner time, they decided to eat at a local pub.

"As long as we're here I'd like to try tonight," Harry said after they placed their order.

"Me too," Luna agreed. "If that man was correct we need to find the hunter as soon as possible, and the treasure will probably be critical in our endeavour. Grandmum would not have sent us after it, otherwise."

"I'd prefer to have a solid plan in place," Hermione said, "but I think you two are right. The sooner we find whatever it is, the better. And I was able to modify the arithmancy of the point-me spell." She quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching them. As they were tucked back in a dark corner booth, she decided that they were hidden well enough. She quickly whispered the modified incantation, and sure enough her wand spun around to point in the direction of Freemasons Hall.

"That'll certainly help," Harry said with a relieved tone as his girlfriend slipped her wand away.

"You just need to let Sirius know that we're okay and we'll be a little while longer," she said. "I'd recommend using the washroom. You can use that mirror he gave you in one of the stalls, and anyone that overhears will think you're using a mobile." Harry nodded and left the table while the girls chatted with each other while they waited for him to return.

Luna was having a grand time in nonmagical London with her two best friends. Never had she imagined so many people all together, all going about their own business, and wearing the most amazing styles of clothing! Likewise, the machines were simply unbelievable, the most impressive being the automobiles that roared up and down the streets, each with a different colour and shape from the one before. The sheer variety to every aspect of life was the most incredible thing she'd ever seen!

Hermione smiled at her enthusiastic best female friend. Luna was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement as she looked around enjoying her experience. She remembered that she was much the same way on her first foray into the magical world, back when Professor McGonagall took her and her parents into Diagon Alley for the first time five years ago. So much had changed since then, and she had to admit that the magical world had lost much of its initial wonder. The centuries-old backwards mindsets combined with the blood bigotry that ran rampant throughout the magical realm, from its places of business and commerce to its halls of learning to its very seat of government, had caused not a little disillusionment within her. After having to endure the ridicule and hexes from Draco Malfoy and his little ragtag band of sycophants, the scorn and derision of Severus Snape, who always protected the little shits in Slytherin no matter what they did, and the general lack of concern regarding the gross misconduct of the purebloods exhibited by the rest of the faculty of Hogwarts, including the headmaster himself, she was quite ready to join Harry in telling magical Britain to sod off.

Except for Luna. The quirky Ravenclaw had a fresh, wonder-filled outlook on life itself, regardless of whether it was magical or not. And she had to admit that the girl's enthusiasm was contagious, welcomingly so. Though it had only been a couple of short months, she felt closer to Luna than anyone else in the world besides Harry and her own parents. "I'm glad you came to talk to us," she suddenly said, taking her friend's hand in her own. "You've been an amazing friend, Luna."

The younger girl beamed. "Thank you, Hermione," she said. "It's been so nice to have real friends to talk with instead of just blibbering humdingers and nargles. Though they do make for entertaining conversation, it's just not the same."

Hermione smiled back. "You know that I want to spend the rest of my life with Harry," she went on. "I hope that will include being Mrs. Potter one day too. The thing is, I can't imagine a life without you being a part of it too, and I know Harry feels the same way. You've been a truer friend to us both than anyone else, including Ron."

"He has one of the worst wrackspurt infestations I've ever seen, other than Professor Snape. It's even worse than Draco Malfoy's."

"I'm not surprised," the bushy-haired brunette said ruefully. "I can't say that he's ever been a true friend to me, either. I'm convinced he only tolerated me because Harry liked me. I don't think he ever spoke a civil word to me unless he needed help with his homework."

"You mean he needed you to do it for him," Luna giggled.

Hermione laughed. "Exactly. You've never been jealous of me or Harry, you've done everything you could to help us when we needed it, and you're always trying to build us up instead of tear us down. That means a lot, Luna."

The other girl ducked her head, the tips of her ears turning pink. "You've both done so much for me too," she whispered. "The least I could do is stand by you."

"I've never had a sister… but I hope that if I did I'd love her as much as I love you," Hermione finished, squeezing her friend's hand.

Luna looked up, tears filling her eyes. "You really mean that?" she said, her voice barely audible.

"I really do." Her own eyes grew moist at the desperate hope she heard in the other girl's voice.

The blonde flung her arms around her older friend. "I love you too, Hermione. Sisters?"

"Sisters. Now and forever."

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked as he returned from the washroom. Both girls were a little teary-eyed, but they each gave him a watery smile.

"Better than ever, my love," Hermione told her boyfriend.

"Hermione just said that I was her sister!" Luna joyfully proclaimed as she reached out to take his hand. "I've always wanted a brother or a sister, but after Mummy died and Daddy started focusing entirely on the _Quibbler_ I thought that would never happen."

He reached across and took Hermione's hand, completing the circle. "Well, I can be your brother too," he said, giving Luna a warm smile.

"Oh, brilliant!" There was no doubt Luna would have started clapping her hands in excitement had they not been held by her two best friends. As it was, she was bouncing in her seat again.

"Okay, so Sirius knows we'll be late?" Hermione asked, getting them back on task.

"Right. I didn't go into detail, of course. We'll tell him all about it after we find whatever it is we're looking for. He just told us to be careful or he'll prank the hell out of us for a month."

Their food and drinks arrived, and they enjoyed plates of fish and chips and shepherd's pie along with American sodas. It was Luna's first experience with Coca-Cola, and she couldn't say enough good things about the drink. "That is _so_ much better than pumpkin juice!" she gushed.

"Luna dear," Hermione said with a teasing smile, " _anything_ is better than pumpkin juice."

Harry quite agreed. He really didn't understand the wizarding world's obsession with the thick, orange beverage. It was especially disturbing because it looked just enough like regular orange juice, a drink he very much enjoyed, that it was possible to mistake it if one wasn't paying attention. The taste, though, was nothing alike, and if one was expecting orange juice the pumpkin flavour would come as quite the shock.

After paying for their meal, the trio made their way to the alley behind Freemasons' Hall. The late afternoon shadows were lengthening by this time, giving them sufficient cover to cast the spells needed. Earlier, when she was researching the various spells they might need, Hermione had figured out a way to tweak the arithmancy for the disillusionment, notice-me-not, and silencing spells in such a way that the three could still see and hear each other, but no one else would. Once silenced and invisible they left the alley and circled around to the Hall's main entrance.

It was shortly before 5:00 PM and the Hall was starting to close to the public, so there were still a few people coming out. Harry caught the door as a small family walked out, and the trio slipped inside, allowing the door to close behind them. Dodging the stragglers leaving the Museum and shop, they made their way into the administrative area. Every so often Hermione would cast her modified point-me charm and was soon able to confirm that their target was below them in the same building. Several unlocking charms and stairwells later, they emerged into a nondescript hallway with several doors on each side. Hermione's spell confirmed that they were on the right level and that the treasure was on the right side of the hall.

The doors on this level were heavy, utilitarian steel with multiple locks, true vault doors practically impregnable by nonmagical means. Hearts racing in anticipation, the teens crept down the hall, pausing outside the vault that seemed to be indicated by Hermione's spell.

"That's the one," Luna said.

Hermione cast the unlocking spell on each of the locks and Harry pushed the heavy door open.

The vault wasn't exceptionally large, though it was big enough for a dozen people to fit inside without feeling the least bit cramped. Much of the vault was filled with various medieval artefacts, religious icons, and paraphernalia relating to the Knights Templar, but along the back wall were several shelves stacked with scrolls, loose papers, and ancient tomes.

The three young people were impressed. Granted, this was not necessarily the largest treasure they'd ever seen – this vault was smaller than Harry's Gringotts vault – but the historical value of what was represented here more than made up for the lack of size.

After regaining her composure, Hermione cast her point-me spell several more times, following the directions to the shelves in the back. A few more castings led her to a large leather-bound book with brass fittings and an intricate lock on the front. "This is it," she said, holding the tome with reverence.

"Excellent," Harry said. "Let's get out of here."

They retraced their steps without incident, making sure the doors were locked behind them, but all three breathed easier once they left the Hall and made their way back down Long Acre in the direction of Charing Cross Road. True to his word, the strange blind man was gone when they passed by the boarded-up shop. Five minutes later they entered the Leaky Cauldron and flooed back to 12 Grimmauld Place, quietly speaking the password – _doghouse_ – after they called for their destination.

As usual, Harry came hurtling out of the fireplace, nearly bowling Sirius over, but for once he didn't make any complaint. He immediately turned around to see Hermione step out, clutching the precious book to her chest, followed by Luna skipping out behind her.

"Done a little shopping then?" Sirius asked.

"Um, not exactly," Hermione said, blushing.

"It's the Templar Treasure!" Luna chirped excitedly.

Sirius blinked. "Templar Treasure?"

"Part of it, anyway," Hermione said. "The part that was relevant to us, at least." She went on to explain about the history of the Templars and the theories regarding the nature of their fabled treasure, followed by Luna and Harry explaining about their visit to Queen Titania.

"So…" Harry's godfather began, "this artefact, which the Queen of the Faeries said you need to stop the hunter – who is doing the magical world a fantastic service, I might add – and is also part of a mythical treasure that has been the subject of rampant conjecture and speculation for the better part of a millennium, just _happened_ to be lying around somewhere that you three could simply go out and pick it up one afternoon?"

Harry shuffled his feet as he traded a sheepish grin with the girls. "Well, we did have to break into Freemasons' Hall and steal it from their secured vaults," he admitted.

His godfather looked at him for a long, tension-filled moment before he burst out laughing. "That's bloody hilarious!" he howled. "Prongs would be so proud of you, Pup! Your mum would be pissed off, that's for bloody sure, but James would be laughing his arse off! My god, you've just pranked every historian and treasure hunter ever!" He collapsed on a sofa, shaking with laughter. "How many people have spent their entire lives searching for legendary treasures? And you three just stroll out one afternoon after something that many historians deny ever existed and bring it back that same evening!"

The teens couldn't help themselves. The stress of their adventure, combined with the giddy relief they felt at pulling it off along with Sirius' howls of laughter, caught up to them and they joined Harry's godfather in side-splitting laughter. Hermione had the presence of mind to place the book on an end table before grabbing her two best friends in a rib-cracking hug, her shoulders shaking as she laughed.

As they calmed down, Harry took it upon himself to fetch them all a glass of water. When he returned from the kitchen, Hermione had moved the book to the coffee table and was kneeling in front of it. After casting an unlocking charm on the book, she took a glass from Harry and sipped it while the ornate lock opened with a series of clicks. Fingers trembling with excitement, she carefully opened the hard leather cover.

" _Divina Libri Bellica,_ " she read aloud. "Latin. Translates to _Book of Divine Warfare._ "

***DIM***

A stout man with limp, stringy hair, a furtive, rat-like look, and wearing ill-fitting, slightly ragged clothes that looked like they hadn't seen a good wash in months, entered a dark, shabby room in a large, equally shabby manor house. His beady eyes hinted at a taste for cruelty, though that trait was currently overshadowed by obvious fear. His hesitance in entering the room only reinforced the appearance that he would rather be anywhere else but here.

A large snake lifted its head from where it was coiled up in a corner, but otherwise did nothing else. The man approached a threadbare divan under a window covered by thick, heavy drapes. A wide, shallow basket lay on the worn couch and contained a pale, emaciated figure roughly the size of an infant but with grossly deformed features and limbs.

"Master," the man whispered, "I bring news."

"Speak," the thing in the basket hissed.

"It's Crouch," he said. "He was discovered. Madam Bones insisted on a full interrogation with veritaserum, and after his trial this afternoon he was kissed by a dementor. There were not enough of our people to prevent this from happening. Fortunately, Minister Fudge forbad her from pursuing any further action, especially anything that could show the fine, upstanding citizenry that supports Fudge in a negative light."

The thing growled its displeasure. "This assassin is vexing me, Wormtail. What is Fudge doing to apprehend this person?"

"He has been vocal with his denouncements and has tasked Madam Bones with finding the murderer at all costs. She is not willing to give more than a token effort though. Every time the Minister tries to make it a priority she says that she doesn't have enough aurors to do the job, and has implied on more than one occasion that the same people who pushed Fudge to reduce funding for the DMLE are now the ones suffering the consequences of the inadequately funded department."

"We will have to deal with her permanently soon after the ritual. What about Potter?"

"Gone. He left Hogwarts mere days after the first task, while Dumbledore was still recovering in the infirmary. Just like Crouch reported, he did not believe that his own magic was at stake. His mudblood girlfriend had a different opinion than that of the Ministry and other tournament officials, and apparently she was right. When the first task was over, Crouch lost his magic."

"I am surrounded by incompetence," the grotesque figure stated with a scowl. "We must move our schedule forward, Wormtail. I can no longer count on Potter being where I need him at the time we'd originally planned. Though I am loath to give him up, the ritual must take precedence. As we now have no way of knowing where the brat will be and when, there is no point in waiting for the summer solstice like I had originally intended. We will do the ritual on the winter solstice in just a few weeks, and you will use that time to find a suitable replacement for Potter's blood."

Wormtail gave his master a sinister grin. "I already have an idea, master. And this person will not even be able to resist."

***DIM***

In one of the abandoned deep level train stations of the maze that was the London Underground, two homeless men were chatting back and forth as they prepared their sleeping bags for the night. Another brief tremor had shaken the station as they were making their way down into the shadowed depths and they paused as their torches illuminated a light shower of dust from the overhead. There had been several such tremors to rock central London over the past few weeks, though seismologists were baffled and growing increasingly alarmed at the unusual seismic activity. The quakes were never that violent – knocking a few loose items over seemed to be the extent of any damage reported – and were over rather quickly. Though minor earthquakes were not uncommon in the United Kingdom, most of the time they were so faint that no one could tell they had happened. These, though nowhere near the scale of the quakes along the Pacific Rim, were especially disturbing as the seismologists could not figure out why or even how they were happening. The shaking subsided with no further incident, and the two men had continued down into the station.

Jack Murdoch and Sean Kelly had decided that there was strength in numbers, and so became friends several years prior. Most of the year they preferred to kip outdoors, or under a bridge when it was raining, but wintertime was too dangerous. That was also the time of year when the various charity shelters were filled to overflowing, and so when they found that they could discretely make their way to some of the abandoned stations they eagerly did so. Here they had shelter, if not the most comfortable, but more importantly they had their freedom. The charities invariably had rules of conduct, and while said rules couldn't really be considered onerous, it was still the principle of the thing. By staying in the abandoned stations they could come and go as they pleased, with no one to tell them when to sleep, when to wake, or take them to task for not searching for jobs, attending counselling or worship services, or for using foul language. The accumulated grime, detritus, and cobwebs that coated the walls and floors of the station weren't hallmarks of the most glamourous accommodations by any stretch of the imagination, but it was theirs and they were relatively happy.

As they bedded down for the night on the dirty, cracked brick platform, their attention was suddenly drawn to a wet-sounding thud on the curved brick wall on the opposite side of the abandoned track. Even as Jack shined his torch across the track in the direction of the noise, a louder smack sounded as several bricks were jarred loose and fell into the old train tunnel. A moment later, bricks went flying as a putrid, black amorphous mass of _something_ burst through the wall and oozed its way toward them. Myriad eyes of all shapes and sizes appeared in the rotting heap of decaying slime and just as quickly disappeared into its colossal bulk. Pseudopods grew and shrunk, much like a nightmarish amoeba, accompanied by slavering maws ranging in size and appearance from human to wolf to shark to something from the pits of Hell. The unholy abomination defied any attempt to categorize or even comprehend.

The two homeless men were beside themselves with terror. Nearly overwhelmed by the suffocating stench that accompanied the foul monstrosity, they scrambled to their feet and tried to escape, forgetting about shoes, sleeping bags, or any other possessions. As he turned, Jack tripped over a piece of broken masonry, breaking his big toe in the process, and went sprawling, losing his grip on his torch. Sean turned back to help him up, but it was too late. A grasping tentacle wrapped itself around his leg and yanked him back so hard that his body left the platform and was quickly engulfed in the vile protoplasmic entity. Murdoch's screams were immediately muted, only to be followed by the unmistakable sound of bones snapping as his body was crushed into paste. Kelly, seeing the futility of staying, turned and fled for his life.

Fortunately, he was able to escape the horror and make it back up to the street. Unfortunately, the police were reluctant to pay much heed to what sounded like the deluded ravings of a madman or drug addict. A report was filed, along with the analysis of the duty officer that took the report and was promptly forgotten. It wouldn't be until a few weeks later, when an electrical team inspecting that same portion of the Underground went missing under mysterious circumstances, that Sean Kelly's report would be remembered.

Unbeknownst to him, Kelly had been in such a rush to escape that he had failed to notice the gaping cavern behind the brick wall of the tunnel from which the nightmare creature had emerged. Nor was he aware of the eerie pale green glow from the uncharted depths of that same cavern.


	8. Rebirth of a Madman

The weeks following the recovery of the book saw a drastic change in the focus of the three teens and their tutors. Realizing that the entire book was written in Latin, Hermione asked Sirius if the Black family had any translation spells they could all use. After searching his family's library, he found one that he taught to them so they could all read the book without trouble.

A brief introduction told them that this was not the original work but one that was faithfully transcribed from the original Aramaic. According to the translator, an Arab scholar had obtained several items of a dark nature, and in his studies of those objects he had become as corrupted as those pieces. He sought out more and darker artefacts, eventually compiling the results of his studies into several books. One of his contemporaries, horrified at the potential for sheer evil that could result from this forbidden knowledge, sought answers of a holy nature in order to provide a workable counter to the madness and hopefully keep it in check. The result of his studies was the Book of Divine Warfare – a compendium of magic, disciplines, and even weapons and armour. The Latin translation the teens found had additional notes not found in the original work, mostly pertaining to the history of Templar order and how the remnants integrated into the Freemasons, so it seemed that some of it at least had been written here in England. That theory seemed proven when they found a note describing a cache of sacred items hidden under Glastonbury Tor.

"That doesn't actually surprise me," Hermione confessed once she read the note. "Glastonbury Tor has long been considered one of the holiest sites in Britain for thousands of years, from the ancient Celts to the Catholic church. It's even supposed to be part of the island of Avalon, for goodness' sake. I honestly can't think of a more appropriate place to hide sacred relics."

"But wouldn't archaeologists have discovered it already?" Harry wanted to know.

"Not necessarily. Okay, there are legends of a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers under the tor, but nothing has ever been proven beyond the shadow of a doubt. There have been a few tunnels that were discovered at Glastonbury Abbey, where King Arthur is supposedly buried, but the abbey is almost a mile away and the tunnels were found blocked off after a short distance. As best as they can tell, those tunnels from the abbey were used either for supply runs or to easily get to other holy sites. Now, there was a church built on top of the tor, although St. Michael's Tower is the only part of it left, and one of the tunnels from the abbey does seem to go in the direction of the tower, but a lot of historians think that a tunnel that long was impractical."

"So, does the note say what these sacred relics actually are?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but it does say that in order to find them we first need to find the wardstone at St. Michael's Church. Now, even though the church is gone we should still be able to find the stone. If we're fortunate it'll even be somewhere in the tower. The wardstone will have an obvious piece missing, but the note makes a reference to the book where we can find detailed instructions for making the missing keystone."

"We need to do this too," Luna broke in. "I don't know what we'll find there, but it will make all the difference."

Harry smiled. "Looks like we've got another treasure hunt, Padfoot!" he called out.

*DIM*

It was decided that after making a supply run to Diagon Alley, which primarily involved the purchase of a specialized trunk with a massive space expansion charm inside, permanently rendered thanks to the runes engraved throughout the interior surfaces, Hermione's parents would meet her, Harry, and Luna outside the Leaky Cauldron. If anyone asked, they were spending Christmas with Daniel and Emma Granger in Crawley, a little over an hour south of the Leaky Cauldron with decent traffic, but their other reason was so that the Grangers could take them to Glastonbury, nearly three and a half hours away to the west. Over the course of several letters owled back and forth, much to Hedwig's satisfaction, the Grangers were informed of the gist of what was going on and the importance of what the young people were doing. The specifics were avoided until they were able to meet face to face, but Hermione's parents still agreed to take them to Glastonbury. They had even reserved the last pair of rooms at a local inn for that very night. They had tried for three, but with the holidays fast approaching no more rooms were available. And so it was that after bidding Sirius farewell, the trio stepped out into nonmagical London for the second time in as many weeks, their luggage stowed in their new trunk which was currently shrunken to the size of a matchbox and safely resting in Harry's coat pocket.

After hugs and holiday greetings were exchanged, they climbed into Daniel's Range Rover and embarked on their journey. By unspoken agreement, the craziness of the last few months was not discussed. Instead, the long drive was spent getting to know each other. Daniel and Emma, it turned out, were both dentists who owned a successful practice in Crawley. Both had a love of classic literature, especially Shakespeare, which explained where Hermione's name had come from, and they both loved playing tennis together in warmer weather. They also enjoyed camping, but while Daniel was passionate about fishing, Emma didn't care for it so much. She much preferred cooking fish to catching and cleaning them, she laughed. She was also a talented painter, and had even had several of her paintings fetch a handsome sum at various art festivals in the area. Daniel's "at home" hobby was model trains. The basement of their home had an impressive model railroad track, complete with wooded mountainous terrain and villages, all painstakingly assembled and painted with the highest attention to detail.

The drive along the A303 was quite pleasant. It was still early afternoon when they passed Amesbury so they decided to stop and visit Stonehenge, as it was just off their route and none of them had actually seen the megalithic structure in person. After visiting the famous monument, they stopped again in Wincanton and had an early dinner at a local pub.

Glastonbury was a quaint little town in the lowlands of southwest England with a rich history going back thousands of years to Neolithic times. Some of the earliest Christian traditions in all of England were based here, primarily involving Joseph of Arimathea. According to folklore, the Chalice Well, located on the southeast side of town, was the spot where he had placed the Holy Grail, the cup that Jesus Christ used at the Last Supper and later during his crucifixion was used by Joseph to catch his spilled blood. Joseph was also considered by some to have founded Glastonbury Abbey, just to the northwest of the Chalice Well, sometime in the first century, and was also attributed to have planted the Holy Thorn, a plant that bloomed twice a year – once at Christmas and once at Easter. The Holy Grail became integrated with Arthurian lore, as did Glastonbury and the surrounding lands. Just south of the town flowed the River Brue, though during the time of Arthur the river had formed a lake which lore suggested was the home of the Lady of the Lake.

The most significant landmark, though, was Glastonbury Tor. Rising over five hundred feet above sea level just east of the town, the distinctive hill could be seen for miles. Terraces winding back and forth all the way around the tor were thought by many to be a meditative spiral pathway leading from the ground to the summit of one of the most iconic sacred sites in all of Britain. From neopagans to Christians to historians, Glastonbury held a special significance to many people.

It was early evening when Daniel Granger pulled his Range Rover into the car park of the inn where they would stay the night. The sky had been partly cloudy all day, but there had been no rain until they were almost to Glastonbury. As it was, it was no more than a drizzle, but it was enough to be uncomfortable, especially in the cold, clammy air. Hermione groaned as she opened the door and got hit by a wet gust of wind. "This is going to be fun," she groused. "I'm glad we packed extra jumpers. We're sure to need them."

Harry climbed out after her and immediately took her hand. "Hopefully it won't take too long," he said. "The big thing will be finding the wardstone, but with your point-me spell that shouldn't be too difficult."

The damp cold didn't seem to faze Luna at all. She'd experienced much worse weather during her family's hunts for the crumple-horned snorkack.

The Grangers checked in at the front desk and collected the two room keys. They allowed the three teens to take the larger room with two beds with the assurance that the girls would share one while Harry took the other. After the young people promised to behave and the elder Grangers admonished them to be careful on their pending adventure, they retired to their rooms.

The trio wanted to wait until well after dark before they left the inn, as there would be less chance of encountering anyone on the tor. Hermione grabbed the digital clock from the nightstand between the two beds and set the alarm for 10:00 PM. As they had several hours to wait, she then turned on the television and introduced her two best friends to MTV and the newly launched VH1. Harry had heard some of the music before from when his cousin Dudley would listen to his music too loud, but this was a new treat for Luna. She was instantly drawn to the sounds and styles of what Hermione called _hard rock_ and _heavy metal_. The quirky blonde wasn't quite sure what rocks and metal, heavy or not, had to do with music, but whatever it was, she liked it. When Hermione mentioned that nonmagicals had devices that could play a person's favourite music anywhere they wanted to go, she was practically jumping on the bed with excitement. "We've got to get one!" she squealed excitedly.

Hermione laughed at her friend's antics. "Harry, I know what we're getting Luna for Christmas," she said.

At ten o'clock the alarm went off and the teens bundled up to go outside. Harry carried their shrunken chest in his pocket again while Luna carried the keystone they had made a few days prior. Hermione cast the same series of spells on them that they'd used when they first retrieved the _Divina Bellica_ , as they'd taken to calling it, and then they slipped out of the inn.

The drizzle had stopped by this time, but there was still a patchy cloud cover overhead. Every so often there would be a break in the clouds, allowing the nearly-full moon to shine through. As they walked through the silent, damp streets of the town a light mist started forming. After a short while, they passed the Chalice Well and could easily see the hill looming up against the night sky before them.

The gate to the path leading up to the summit was closed and locked, but it was also low enough to easily climb over, which the teens did with no hesitation.

"I'm glad we don't have to follow the spiral labyrinth to get to the top," Hermione said as they climbed the steps of the path. "We'd have to wind our way around the entire hill seven times or so, and it would take us two or three hours."

All three were breathing a little heavier than normal by the time they reached St. Michael's Tower at the top of the tor. The moon broke through another hole in the clouds right then, allowing them to enjoy a truly magnificent view. They could see for miles in all directions, though the mist was getting a little thicker as it started collecting on the ground. It felt like they were standing on an island in the middle of a silvery-grey sea of fog, and it was easy to see where tales of Avalon might have come from.

Hermione cast her modified point-me spell, and the trio proceeded in the direction indicated by the brunette's wand. They found a smooth stone embedded in the ground just outside the small tower. Following the instructions on the note, Luna tapped a certain rune on the keystone with her wand, channelling her magic as she did so. The runes on the keystone lit up, and as she lowered it to the wardstone, runes that until now had remained hidden suddenly appeared on the wardstone, as did a slot just big enough to hold the keystone. Luna immediately slid the keystone in place. As she did so, the teens heard the sound of stone grating against stone. The ground vibrated as segments of grass-covered stone sank into the hill, creating a spiral stairway down into the earth.

After setting a notice-me-not charm on the surface of the stairway, the three teens went down the steps. At the foot was a stone wall with an iron-bound door embedded therein, leading even deeper into the tor. The door was not locked, and though obviously quite heavy was balanced on its hinges in such a way that after lifting the latch it barely took a touch for it to swing open.

Harry illuminated the tip of his wand and led the girls into the tunnel on the other side. The corridor was lined with rough-hewn stone, but the floor was relatively smooth. Thick wooden beams reinforced the vaulted ceiling overhead, and all three were amazed to see that there was no sign of rot or decay on the wood. Neither was there any dampness or mould. The air itself smelled clean and fresh, not musty or stale as would normally be expected in a chamber buried for centuries.

After going down a short flight of stairs and a few more turns, the corridor opened up into a room filled with weapons, armour, and various other items, many of them duplicates. Against the back wall, directly opposite the entry to the chamber, stood a complete suit of armour that Hermione and even Harry recognized as the type worn by the Templars. It consisted of a full suit of chainmail, a white tabard with a red cross pattée sewn on the front, a black leather sword belt complete with a cruciform-style long sword, and a flat-topped steel great helm.

In the very centre of the chamber stood a carved stone pedestal, on top of which was a book. As soon as she saw it, Hermione went straight to the ancient tome. "This looks like a catalogue of the room," she said a few moments later after she perused the volume. "We'll have to cast the translation spell – it's in Latin too."

"That's fine," Harry said as he removed the shrunken chest from his pocket. Placing it on the ground, he tapped the box with his wand in a specific pattern, causing the built-in spells to expand it. "We'll put that in last, Mione. In the meantime, we'll just grab everything and get out of here. We can figure out what everything is back at Grimmauld Place."

"Does one of us need to climb in and organize everything?" Luna wanted to know.

"No, just dump it all in. Everything will automatically be put in stasis so it won't matter how the chest gets tossed and turned."

"Well that's certainly convenient," Hermione said. "We'll be done in no time then!"

Using the levitation spell, the three began to move all the items in the room to the magical trunk. The task took several hours to complete, but in the end they scoured the chamber bare. Pieces of armour, shields, swords, maces, bows, spears, jewellery, chests of coins and uncut gems, and other items, including the suit of Templar armour, all found their way into the chest until there was only the catalogue left. Hermione picked it up herself and gently laid it in the trunk, and Harry closed the lid and shrunk it before he picked it up and put it back in his pocket.

Their quest complete, they left the chamber and climbed back up to the surface. Removing the keystone caused the runes on the wardstone to disappear once more, and the slabs of earth rose back up to the surface, erasing all trace that they had been there. Tired but triumphant, they climbed down the tor and returned to Glastonbury. By this time the moon had nearly set in the western sky and the temperature had dropped even more. Thankfully there was no rain, but clouds still blocked out most of the stars and there was an even frost on the ground. They made it back to their room without incident and immediately went to sleep, barely taking the time to brush their teeth and change into their nightclothes.

It was shortly after noon when Harry awoke, and he quietly got dressed before waking the girls. After making sure they wouldn't fall back asleep, he left the room and stepped across the hall to let the Grangers know that they had safely returned. After the girls had finished getting ready, they checked out of the inn and had lunch at a local tavern. They decided to visit the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey and the Chalice Well as long as they were here in town, and after seeing the sights they climbed back in Daniel's Range Rover and returned to Crawley.

*DIM*

A few miles northwest of the city of Sheffield in South Yorkshire County lay the small village of Little Hangleton, along with its neighbour Great Hangleton. There had only been one noble family of any note in the area, the Riddles, but the last of that line had been mysteriously murdered many years ago. The locals suspected that the murderer was the caretaker, one Frank Bryce, but his alibi had checked out and he had been cleared of any wrongdoing. Still viewed with a measure of suspicion, though, Bryce had continued taking care of the decaying Riddle manor house to the best of his abilities until he had disappeared without a trace this past summer.

So far it had been a particularly damp and cold December, though not as cold as past years. Snow was not expected until some time in January, but freezing rain fell with regular occurrence and the air itself seemed imbued with the very essence of the unlamented dementors.

The night of the winter solstice found a miserable, wet, and bedraggled Peter Pettigrew, also know as Wormtail due to his pathetic animagus form of a particularly scruffy-looking rat, preparing for a ritual at an overgrown cemetery behind an equally rundown church at Little Hangleton. A steady rain beat down, and though the full moon was just a few nights ago the heavy storm clouds obscured its radiant white light. The only light came from a hooded lantern resting on a dead tree stump and a small fire burning underneath a cauldron large enough to hold a full-grown man. A noxious mixture bubbled away in the cauldron, shielded from the rain by a water-repelling spell. Beside the cauldron, oddly enough, was a basket with a large snake wrapped around it, along with a hospital bed, the latter holding an emaciated patient strapped down. The patient's eyes were open but gazing straight up with a blank, unseeing stare. The basket and bed both were also protected by water-repelling spells.

"Hurry, Wormtail," a cold voice hissed from the shadowed depths of the basket. "The ritual must start at midnight." Almost as if in agreement, the snake raised its head and hissed, flicking its forked tongue in Pettigrew's general direction.

The unhappy man was shoulder deep in a muddy hole before a tombstone bearing the inscription of Tom Riddle. Another shovelful of freezing wet mud was tossed out of the hole as the rain beat down on the digger. Still angry at having Potter slip from his grasp, the deformed, spider-like homunculus that was the current incarnation of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, had denied Pettigrew the comfort of a water-repelling charm or permission to use magic for his task. Complaining, though, was useless. While nowhere near his former level of power, the homunculus Voldemort was still more than capable of using the torture curse, as Pettigrew had already felt multiple times since locating his master. Not for the first time, he wondered if his desire for money, fame, and women was worth the abuse he suffered from his master on an almost daily basis. In the end, though, it didn't matter. He'd made his choice years before when he'd committed the necessary rape, torture, and murder that all Death Eaters were required to perform in order to receive the Dark Mark, just as he'd made his choice when he told his master of the Potters' hiding place. If the "initiation" into the ranks of the Death Eaters hadn't sealed his fate, his betrayal of his closest friends certainly would have.

His musings were interrupted by the hollow thud as his shovel impacted wood. "I found the coffin, milord," he called out, raising his voice so that he could be clearly heard over the sound of the wind and rain.

"Excellent," Voldemort hissed. "Hurry, get the lid cleared off enough to at least break a hole in it. We have another half an hour before we must complete the ritual. I can already feel the magic start to flow around me."

Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Wormtail nevertheless got the lid of the coffin uncovered enough to raise. With a look of distaste, he reached inside the casket and yanked out a femur of Voldemort's long-dead father.

"That will suffice," his master said. "Now get up here and begin the ritual!"

Violently shivering, and not just from the cold, Pettigrew climbed out of the grave and laid the femur on the dead grass beside the fire. This ritual was the last thing he wanted to do, but at this point he had no choice. His life was basically over unless he was able to resurrect his lord, but the cost of doing so was high. So very high.

He reached into the basket and pulled out a deformed, misshapen caricature of a baby, such as might be expected if a demon and a reptile had an unholy spawn. Swallowing his distaste at handling the abomination, Pettigrew carried the homunculus to the cauldron and laid it inside the seething mixture contained therein. He reached down and picked up the femur of Tom Riddle and dropped it in the foul liquid as well, uttering a barely-audible line about "bone of the father."

Now for the hardest part of the ritual. Hands shaking, he drew a nasty-looking knife with a serrated edge and touched the blade to his left wrist. Tears streamed down his face, hidden by the pouring rain, and he whimpered in fear before he reached down deep inside and found the little spark of Gryffindor courage that had originally landed him in the House of the Brave all those years ago at Hogwarts. Gritting his teeth against the sobs that burst out of him, he began sawing through flesh, sinew, and bone. He nearly passed out from the pain but kept sawing as if he were possessed by a foreign spirit.

Though it felt like hours, it was barely fifteen seconds when the last shred of skin separated and the hand fell into the cauldron with a plop. Weeping from the agony, he screamed out the next line of the ritual, accompanied by a flash of lightning and peal of thunder.

His lifeblood flowing from the vicious wound, he staggered drunkenly to the hospital bed and, using the same knife, made a deep incision in the bound patient's arm. Holding the knife at an angle until the blade was completely covered in the patient's blood, Pettigrew crawled back to the cauldron and tossed the gory blade into the roiling liquid. He was barely able to chant the final line of the ritual before he fainted from blood loss.

With the final ingredient and incantation, the liquid exploded, cracking the cast iron cauldron in two. A flash of lightning revealed a pale, androgynous, snake-like humanoid standing naked in the deluge. Seeing the unconscious Pettigrew lying on the ground, the creature sneered in disdain. "Pathetic," it hissed. "Yet...he did serve his purpose well." It knelt down and retrieved an all-familiar wand before lifting Pettigrew's mutilated limb. A tap of its wand and a hissed incantation later, and the stump was capped with a hand of solid silver.

The creature stood, caressing the head of the snake that had approached, and walked to the basket. It pulled out a ragged black robe and donned it before turning to the hospital bed. "Frank Longbottom," it hissed. "I confess that you are a poor substitute for Harry Potter, but you are an enemy nonetheless and your blood was sufficient for my resurrection. Now it will be used to revive my servant." The oblivious man did not respond, but stared unblinking into the night sky.

The creature cast another spell, causing Longbottom and Pettigrew both to glow for a few seconds. As the glow faded, Longbottom's eyes closed and a long, slow breath escaped his body for the last time. Even in the pale light of the lantern it was easy to see that his body was much paler than it was earlier.

Pettigrew, on the other hand, blearily opened his eyes to find his master standing over him, and with his hand replaced with one of silver. "Thank you, milord," he whimpered.

"Give me your arm, Wormtail," the resurrected Voldemort commanded.

The pitiful man lifted his arm, displaying the infamous tattoo of a skull with a snake crawling out of its mouth. Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand into the tattoo and channelled his magic. Pettigrew hissed at the sting as his master summoned the surviving members of the inner circle of his Death Eaters.

"We will soon see who of the living will be brave enough to return when their master calls," the dark lord said.

In short order, the first apparation pop sounded amidst the pattering rain. A fearful yet relieved Thorfinn Rowle stepped forward and immediately knelt before his master. "Milord," he said reverently, "thank Mordred you're back." Voldemort pursed his thin lips together but otherwise said nothing. Rowle, not receiving permission to stand, did not move. Other pops sounded as more of Voldemort's Death Eaters appeared in the abandoned cemetery and gathered around, each kneeling as they arrived.

At last there were no more arrivals. Voldemort looked around in displeasure. "Eight," he whispered. "My inner circle, those whom I trained myself, those who held the most prestige and trust in my order, over a score total, and eight of you show up when I call."

The kneeling Death Eaters were terrified but said nothing. They were all familiar with their master's violent mood swings, and knew that speaking without being bidden to was a quick invitation for pain.

At length Voldemort sighed, his red reptilian eyes burning with anger. "Fortunately for you, I am well aware of the assassin who seems to have a vendetta against my followers. His destruction of Azkaban was a terrible blow to us, for not only did he murder many of my most effective followers from the regular ranks, he murdered seven of my most valuable of the inner circle. That alone would have earned him my eternal enmity, but he has also murdered an additional six of that same inner circle who never stepped foot in Azkaban, to say nothing of the scores of nonincarcerated regulars who are now dead as well. As of now, finding and stopping this assassin will be one of our two highest priority missions. Dead or alive, I care not. The so-called Boy-Who-Lived, though, will be brought to me alive. I reserve his death for myself, and he will be made into a public spectacle. None will dare stand against us at that point, not with their saviour's blood spilt on the streets of Diagon Alley."

*DIM*

The hunter silently cursed as the rain beat down on the slick roof of the small chapel at Little Hangleton. _It's too late to stop the bloody ritual, but maybe I can thin the ranks just a bit more_. For some reason it had been difficult to get a read on Voldemort's location, not to mention intentions, but tonight his location suddenly became clear. With that sudden clairvoyance, the hunter shadow-walked to the cemetery. And surprise, surprise! There was that rat bastard Pettigrew as well.

Arriving just in time to see Pettigrew toss the bloody knife into the cauldron, the ritual was immediately made clear, as was the method of Voldemort's survival. A horcrux, it had to be. Nothing else made sense. And that also meant that there was a certain spell, known only to those who had studied that sanity-destroying dark tome called the Necronomicon, that could be used to force the soul fragment to be ejected from its container and dissipate into the aether. The quickest way to accomplish this was to cast that spell at the horcrux itself, but if the container was not available the only other way was to cast it at the fool who was mad enough to make the abomination to begin with. That would create a kind of feedback into the container that would have the same results as casting the spell directly on it. The only problem with this version of the procedure was that it took longer to accomplish. Normally that wouldn't give the hunter pause, but there were eight Death Eaters present. Inner circle, too, which meant that they would be a lot more ruthless and dangerous to fight than the normal regulars. But the chance to eliminate Voldemort's grasp on immortality was too great to pass up. It was just a matter of timing.

There was not enough time to set up anti-apparation wards, unfortunately, so some of the Death Eaters would inevitably get away. As they were somewhat clustered together, though, a wide area-effect spell would disrupt Voldemort's pontificating for sure. There was a particularly nasty spell that would create a powerful blast of pure necromantic energy, killing every living thing in its radius before collapsing in on itself and pulling each released soul back in to the centre point where it would annihilate itself and all the souls it carried with it. The hunter didn't want to use that one, though, until Voldemort was mortal once more. While the fragmented soul inhabiting the vile construct down below would certainly be destroyed, the horcrux could certainly take possession of the hapless person that found it and create another version of the madman.

As Voldemort seemed to be winding down, the hunter muttered an arcane phrase accompanied by a deliberate gesture. Without warning, a tremendous bolt of lightning hammered the dark lord from the storm clouds above. Ten smaller bolts arced out from Voldemort's electrified body, catching all of his accompanying Death Eaters, including Pettigrew, and the snake for good measure, and blasting them all back at least twenty feet – those that didn't impact an obstruction of some kind, anyway. That should incapacitate them all for long enough to cast the spell that would overload the horcrux.

The ten figures collapsed like puppets with their strings cut. The snake twitched as spasms shot through its body. Moving quickly, the hunter shadow-walked from the roof of the chapel, stepping out of the shadows next to the fallen dark lord.

Recognizing the cloaked and hooded figure as the mysterious assassin, a semi-conscious Voldemort struggled to gain his feet, but his twitching limbs would not cooperate. He could still feel electrical pulses shooting up and down his nervous system, and pain like he had been beaten across his entire body with a beater's bat. He lay there, helpless in impotent rage as the assassin cast some kind of spell he'd never heard of before, and then his world dissolved into sheer agony that he could feel in what was left of his very soul.

*DIM*

Raw, focused magical energy spread out across Britain on six distinct invisible paths, originating in the Little Hangleton graveyard from the writhing body of the dark lord Voldemort. One terminated almost immediately in the snake that had accompanied Pettigrew and the dark lord this night. Already near death from the lightning strike, the snake began flopping and flailing in pain that matched that which its master now suffered. Another ended less than a mile away in a decrepit shack with the desiccated corpse of a snake nailed to the front door. Underneath a rotten floorboard, a gold ring with an onyx stone bearing a curious sigil, an equilateral triangle containing a circle, with a straight line bisecting the triangle and circle, began glowing a pale, sickly green. One ray went north, where it ended at the great castle of Hogwarts, in a room that was only sometimes in this plane of existence. Filled with the accumulated detritus of untold centuries, a dusty silver tiara resting on the crown of a long-forgotten bust began glowing the same unhealthy green as the ring hundreds of miles away.

The other three magical beams went southwards, one to a long-unopened vault in Gringotts, one to a hidden townhouse a mile or two away from Gringotts in central London, and one to a well-to-do house in Crawley. A gold two handled cup and a gold locket with a stylized emerald "S" on the front joined the ring and tiara with the same glow, and Harry Potter bolted up in his bed, screaming in pain, with his hand clapped to the hated lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

*DIM*

The hunter frowned. The spell should have run its course by now, yet arcane energy still flowed into the dark lord, requiring focus that really couldn't be spared from the fallen Death Eaters. Judging from the moans, some of them were starting to regain their consciousness. Why was this taking so long? It was almost like... No. Even Voldemort couldn't be _that_ stupid, could he? _Did he really make multiple horcruxes?_

*DIM*

Hermione awoke in a panic. It took her a moment to realize that the god-awful screams were coming from her boyfriend's room. She leapt from her bed, followed a moment later by Luna, who was staying in her room, and dashed across the hall to where Harry was sleeping. She was only distantly aware of the hall lights coming on and her parents rushing from their room, hurriedly tying dressing gowns shut. All her focus was on her Harry.

She found him collapsed on his bed, tossing back and forth and nearly frothing at the mouth. "Harry!" she screamed. She jumped in his bed and wrapped her arms around his convulsing body. "I've got you, Harry," she cried. "I'm not letting you go!"

Luna joined them on his other side, embracing them both. "Fight it, Harry," she whispered. "Don't let him win! He's nothing but hate and darkness. Come back to us, come back to the ones who love you!"

Daniel and Emma stood horrified in the doorway of the guest bedroom, unsure what they should do. Their daughter's boyfriend was screaming like the damned – never had they heard such anguish in a voice. They could tell that this was not normal, this was not even of their world. This was something of the world their daughter was now a part of, something that they, with all their education and expertise, were incapable of handling.

His trembling hands fell to the side as his eyes rolled back in his head. His breath was coming in short, rapid bursts but the tremors were subsiding. Even as his two best friends watched, a dull green light appeared from within his famous scar. The flesh around the scar bulged as blood mixed with pus and an unknown black ooze began to trickle out from the angry wound.

"Luna…" Hermione began in a worried voice.

"Back up, Hermione," the blonde Ravenclaw said as she took her own advice.

The bulging scar erupted in a gory spray of blood and foul-smelling black gunk. Luna's warning was just in time, allowing the girls to escape being splattered. A green, glowing cloud burst from the wound in Harry's head with the sound of a shrieking wind and coalesced into a hairless, reptilian-faced man with burning red, hate-filled eyes. Before it could say or do anything, the hellish apparition began to disintegrate. Screaming in fear, pain, and rage, the thing that had been in Harry's scar was torn apart and vanished before their eyes.

*DIM*

"Albus, the Dark Lord is calling. I must leave as quickly as I can."

The aged and battered headmaster looked at Severus Snape in shocked surprise. "So soon?" he asked. "I was sure he planned for his return to be at the summer solstice."

Snape shook his head. "Apparently he moved his timetable forward. His call is… unmistakable."

Dumbledore gave a weary sigh. Everything since Hallowe'en had gone dreadfully wrong. He'd just been released from the infirmary after recovering from his heart attack this very morning, and had a mountain of work relating to the tournament to catch up on, not the least of which was the impending Yule Ball. Though after the debacle of the first task and the deaths or severe injuries of most of the judges' panel, the excitement that would normally accompany the ball was muted. All his carefully-laid plans were now in shambles, and it was all that thrice-damned Potter's fault. "Do whatever you must to regain your place in his inner circle, Severus," he said. "Your role is more critical now than ever before. We need to know his thoughts, his plans, or our entire world and way of life is doomed."

The potions professor inclined his head and left the headmaster's office. He had to hurry to leave the castle wards before he could apparate. Voldemort was not known for his leniency when it came to his Death Eaters being tardy to a summons.

*DIM*

Across Britain, the cursed artefacts that held the fragments of Voldemort's twisted soul spewed forth the abominations housed within. Without exception, each soul shard withered and died, fading away into the aether as it was taken to its final judgment.

The snake at Little Hangleton's cemetery burst apart in a bloody shower of mangled flesh and bone as the final horcrux was destroyed. Voldemort screamed in agony as he suffered the further devastation of his ravaged soul. He had just enough awareness left to know full well what had happened as he watched an incorporeal version of himself dissolve and waft away rather than integrate back with himself. A moment later, he succumbed to blissful unconsciousness.

The pop of an apparation signalled the arrival of Severus Snape. The potions master took in the scene at a glance and immediately cast a silent blasting curse at the cloaked figure standing over his other dark lord. Before it struck, the assassin melted into the shadows and disappeared while the curse struck the wall of the chapel, blowing pieces of masonry everywhere. He hurriedly scooped up the trembling Voldemort and turned to the other Death Eaters, who were beginning to struggle to their feet. "Go to Spinner's End," he ordered them before apparating away.

One by one, they complied as they were able, until only Pettigrew was left. Before he could disappear, though, two lengths of chain shot out of the shadows and wrapped around him, immobilizing him. "You're not going anywhere, Wormtail," a voice hissed from the darkness.

Panicked, the treacherous rat tried to shift into his animagus form but was unsuccessful. "What do you want?" he screamed in terror.

"It's the end of the line for you, my friend." The hunter stepped out of the shadows, allowing the moonlight to fall on a very familiar face.

"It can't be!" Pettigrew shrieked. "You're dead!"

Two more chains shot out of the shadows and wrapped around his legs, while the first two unwound from his body and moved to immobilize his arms. Each chain pulled in a different direction, forcing Peter Pettigrew into a spread-eagled position upright between two trees. The craven Death Eater again attempted to shift into his animagus form, but the hunter was ready for such an attempt. An incantation later saw Pettigrew trussed back up in chains and unable to transform. "Congratulations, Peter," the hunter said. "You are going to be the first person to be quartered in Britain since David Tyrie in 1782. The only difference is, he was already beheaded when they tore him to pieces. You are going to be very much alive." The chains wrapped around Pettigrew's limbs tightened and began to retract around the two trees, inch by agonizing inch. Wormtail wept and pleaded, screamed and begged, but the hunter simply watched in cold, stony silence.

First were the snaps of bones popping out of their joints, followed soon thereafter by the tearing of tendon, sinew, and cartilage. Pettigrew's screams filled the night until they came to an abrupt halt as his body was ripped into four pieces. The hunter banished the chains, leaving the four dismembered chunks of flesh that used to be Peter Pettigrew, and walked across the bloody ground to the forgotten hospital bed. "I'm terribly sorry, Frank. Rest in peace, my friend."

*DIM*

An impatient Severus Snape, the unconscious dark lord Voldemort in his arms, waited for the last of the Death Eaters to make their appearance at his tiny childhood home at the end of a rundown block of terraced houses on a cobblestone street called Spinner's End. Located in a shabby section of the former industrial town of Cokeworth, the houses had been formerly owned or rented primarily by the labourers in the textile mill whose tall brick chimney still overshadowed the all-but-abandoned street. When the mill, originally built in the mid-1700s, finally went out of business in the early '80s, most of those same residents packed up and left for greener pastures. With the closing of the mill, the chief reason for the existence of Cokeworth in the first place, new tenants were practically impossible to find and so the homes had been largely abandoned for over a decade.

As Snape rather disliked the company of people in general, this suited him just fine.

"Where is _Wormtail_?" he sneered after a minute had passed with no further people apparating in.

Thorfinn Rowle, the most recent to arrive, shook his head. "Don't know. He looked as if he was about to apparate, but he obviously didn't show."

The sallow potions master sighed. "Well, it's his own bloody fault then if the dunderhead can't show up where he is supposed to in a timely manner. No matter." Removing a scrap of parchment from his pocket, he passed the note to Rowle. "Read this, memorize it, pass it to the next person. That is the secret to Malfoy Manor, where we will be going next."

Rowle's eyes widened as he suddenly remembered the location of the elegant manor. "Fidelius?" he asked.

"Yes. Narcissa was… _concerned_ about her safety after the murder of her beloved husband." He took the parchment back after the last Death Eater had read it and replaced it into his pocket. "That is where we will stay while our lord recovers." Without another word, he turned and apparated away with their master. Lost in thought, Rowle and the others followed suit.

*DIM*

A wild-eyed Hermione held her unconscious boyfriend close to her chest. "What the _fuck_ was that?" she said, her voice shaking.

It was testimony to how rattled her parents were that neither of them chastised her for her language.

"If I had to venture a guess," Luna said, "that was a soul fragment of Voldemort's."

Hermione gasped. "And that _thing_ has been in Harry's head all this time?"

"It would appear so," the younger girl said. She waved her wand over the scar, which was now only bleeding red, and the wound closed itself up, ejecting any lingering foreign material as it did so. "He'll probably sleep all day tomorrow, but he'll be better than ever when he awakens," she said. "We'll need to change the sheets, though."

Emma shuddered. She was not ashamed to admit that she had screamed like a little girl when that… whatever it was… exploded out of Harry's forehead. She distinctly heard Daniel yell at the same time and suspected that they both would have nightmares about it for a little while at least. "We needn't worry about trying to clean them," she said. "I'm sure at this point I'd much rather burn them."

The two witches, as well as Daniel, nodded their agreement. No one wanted any concrete reminders of the horrific experience that they didn't have to keep. Hermione levitated her boyfriend out of the bed while Luna used her wand to strip the sheets off. No one wanted to even touch the contaminated sheets if they didn't have to. Rolling the linens into a bundle, she followed Daniel to the firepit on the back patio, everyone giving the floating bundle a wide berth.

While Daniel poured lighter fluid on the bundle and Luna stood by with a fire charm ready to release, Emma quickly made the bed with fresh sheets. As she was doing so, Hermione made her decision. "Mum," she said, "I'm taking Harry to my room for the rest of the night. I won't leave him alone like this tonight, and frankly for as long as he needs me."

"Honey, I'm not sure…"

"Luna will be with us. He needs us tonight, Mum. I promise, nothing inappropriate will happen. He's completely unconscious, for heaven's sake."

Emma sighed as she nodded her acceptance, knowing that her daughter would not back down from this. In all truthfulness, she herself desperately needed to feel her husband's arms around her, and she'd only watched from a distance. The whole family was shaken by what had happened to the poor boy, and she wouldn't insist on anyone sleeping alone, at least for tonight.


	9. The Growing Darkness

Just as Luna predicted, Harry slept through most of the next day. When he finally woke up late that afternoon, the first thing he noticed was how _light_ his head felt. He felt far better than he could ever recall, as if there had been an enormous pressure in his brain, one that up to now he'd not even been aware of, that was suddenly released. There was no ache, no sharp pain, no throbbing of any sort. When he sat up in the bed and looked at his reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room, he could barely see the scar. Where before the scar had been a thick, angry red gash across the front of his scalp, never fully healing after all these years, it was now a thin, white line that was almost invisible unless one were specifically looking for it.

His heart leapt with joy when he saw how much it had faded. For all his life, the jagged mark was a constant reminder of what he'd lost, especially his parents. It had always set him apart, especially when interacting with other people his own age. In primary school, he'd been labelled "freak" by his relatives, and that carried over to his classmates as well. Everyone knew that this scar was not normal by the way that it refused to completely heal. He could still recall the feel of the eyes upon him, strangers staring without even trying to hide it, everyone wondering how the wound stayed open like it did. Was the boy cutting himself? If so, why? He'd hated that scar almost as much as he hated the abusive relatives he lived with, long before he learned the truth of what it was.

It grew worse after he got his Hogwarts letter and was introduced to the magical realm. Here, everyone "knew" what the scar meant, and he found himself elevated to celebrity status. Every time someone stared at it, every time someone thanked him or cursed him for what he did that night, every time someone pointed to him and said the much-despised words, "The Boy-Who-Lived," it was like a slap in the face with a dead fish. "Your parents are dead, Harry. You're an orphan." And the hell of it was, he didn't think that he'd done anything at all that fateful Hallowe'en night in 1981. He was still an infant, for god's sake! What did he know of magic, defensive or otherwise? Not a bloody thing! If anyone was the hero, it was his mum. Lily Potter was the only person who could have legitimately been responsible for the destruction of Voldemort that night. And not that he could trust the man, but didn't Dumbledore say that the protection he enjoyed was because of his mum's sacrifice?

No, at least in the nonmagical world he still had a measure of anonymity. The scar simply set him apart – here's someone different from you. In the magical world, everyone knew – or thought they knew – and wanted to see. Every time he went out in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, he felt like the star of a carnival sideshow attraction, like he would be placed between the Bearded Lady and the Siamese Twins. The knowledge that he would never be seen as "just Harry" was driven home before his first year at Hogwarts had even started. Still reeling from being recognized by everyone in the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, though it had been a month prior, he could recall Ron Weasley rudely asking to see the scar. Who the hell asked questions like that anyway? "Hey, can I see your scar?" "Can I see your amputated leg?" "Can I see that large red birthmark that's supposed to look like a goat shagging a pig?" Wasn't it common knowledge that there are certain types of questions that decent people don't even think of asking? Of course, the description of _decent people_ didn't necessarily apply to Ronald Bilius Weasley. And wasn't _that_ a rather prophetic name? _Bilious_ , of course, being synonymous with _nauseous_ and _ill-tempered_ ,and if that wasn't the definition of the youngest Weasley male then nothing was. One had only to observe his eating habits to come to that inescapable conclusion. Such an observation would lead one to believe that the boy was much more suited to a food trough than a table, plate, and utensils. Only Harry's desperation to have a friend, and later his fear of losing a friend, had kept him from dropping the gangly red-headed git like a hot potato.

The list of people that saw through the mythical "Boy-Who-Lived" was very short, headed by Hermione and Luna. Hermione saw him as Harry, her best friend and the boy she loved, and Luna saw him as Harry, the boy who was nice to her and stood up to others for her. Sirius Black saw him as Harry, his godson and the son of his murdered best friends. Daniel and Emma Granger saw him as Harry, their daughter's boyfriend. He wanted to believe that Remus Lupin, another close friend of his parents, also saw him as the son of his best friends, but the former Defence professor had remained quite distant last year despite having a prime opportunity to build a relationship with the young man. He still didn't know why Lupin hadn't said anything until the better part of the year had passed, but based on his experiences this year coupled with his new perspective on his past experiences, it wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if the blame for that, like so much else, could be laid at the feet of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. _Damn him to hell_.

But now, after whatever it was that had happened last night, the scar was practically gone. His memories of last night were fragmented and disjointed. He remembered being at the point where he was almost at the point of drifting off to sleep when he was awakened by what felt like someone stabbing him through the head with a red-hot poker. He had a vague recollection of someone (either Hermione or Luna, maybe even both) holding him, and then it was like something exploded in his head before he sank into blissful oblivion.

He decided that he needed to get up and see what had happened. It was then he realized that he wasn't in the room he'd gone to sleep in the previous night. That would most likely mean that he was now in Hermione's room, and actually _sleeping in his girlfriend's bed_. Blushing at the thought, he hurriedly jumped out of the bed and automatically reached for his glasses resting on the side table. And that was when he realized that his vision was perfect, without him wearing the corrective lenses at all. "Yes!" he yelled, pumping his fist in jubilation.

He heard a pounding on the stairs, and a moment later the door was thrown open and he was attacked by his bushy-haired girlfriend as she flung her arms around him and kissed him within an inch of his life. "How are you feeling, love?" she asked, her eyes bright with moisture.

"Better than ever, Mione!" he exclaimed. "I don't need those hideous glasses anymore, and look!" He brushed the fringe of his hair up off his forehead, revealing the faded scar.

"It's almost gone!" she gasped. "Oh, Harry! I'm so happy for you!" She proceeded to show her excitement by practically squeezing the stuffing out of him.

"So what happened last night?" he asked. "All I remember is that it bloody hurt, that and someone was hugging me. I think it was either you or Luna."

"It was both of us, actually. Harry, love, I don't mind saying that you scared the shit out of all of us last night."

"Sorry about that."

"It's not your fault," she reassured. "We were just so scared that we would lose you. Luna said that she thinks it was a fragment of Voldemort's soul that was embedded in your scar. We don't know what happened, but somehow it was forced out of your head. It was really nasty, too, but Luna healed it afterwards and said that you'd be feeling much better today."

"She was right," he confirmed. "Where is everyone, by the way?"

"Mum and Dad had to go into work for a few hours, and Luna is downstairs watching MTV." She gave him a rueful smile. "I think we've created a monster as far as that goes," she said. "She's already started singing along with some of the videos. She especially likes Alice Cooper and Metallica."

Harry laughed. "So we've got a little headbanger in the making, huh?"

"Looks like. Come on, let's go let her know how you're doing."

***DIM***

The rest of the holidays passed without incident. They decided to go through the items they retrieved from Glastonbury once they got back to the Black home, but in the meantime, they enjoyed their holiday. Much of their time was spent listening to music or watching the telly. Luna was excited to see that the Grangers had a collection of videos of many of Shakespeare's works, including Roman Polanski's Macbeth, Kenneth Branagh's Henry V, and Hamlet, starring Mel Gibson. Harry found them to be quite interesting as well, and to Hermione's delight he would often curl up on the couch in the evening with one of their books of Shakespeare's plays.

They also took the time to study the Book of Divine Warfare. There was a large section within the pages filled with nothing but new spells – not just spells, but an entire new way of doing magic. Many of them had a sacrificial component of some kind, reinforcing the idea that true sacrifice must always be of a personal nature. Despite what aspiring dark lords, practitioners of the dark arts, and various megalomaniacs might otherwise claim, the pacts they made for their magic rarely if ever involved true, legitimate sacrifice. Slaughtering an innocent victim on an altar to the powers of Hel was no hardship of any kind, at least to the kind of person who would actually do such a thing. A true sacrifice was a true giving of self and could never be coerced – it could only be performed voluntarily with full knowledge and deliberate intent. It was a force of purity that could not be rivalled by any known means, nor could it be counterfeited. And the more powerful the spell, the greater sacrifice required. Casting spells of that nature required a level of commitment seldom encountered in the wizarding world. Some might argue that this was all a matter of semantics, but the teens realized that the difference between true sacrifice and the vile offerings made to dark powers was critical.

There was another section concerning various martial disciplines of a divine nature. According to the book, thousands of years ago, prior to the Deluge mentioned in ancient texts and lore from all over the world, angelic beings interacted with the mortal world on a regular basis, teaching many secrets of the world. The martial disciplines outlined in the following pages were established by those who fought the forces of evil with the powers of the divine. Each discipline had at its root a certain core philosophy, a way of looking at and interpreting the world, around which the discipline was built. After the introduction to the section, a spell was listed that would match the spellcaster with the discipline that best suited him or her and would also bestow the core knowledge of said discipline upon the caster. It was up to the caster at that point to utilize that knowledge to train the body, mind, and spirit.

Harry was eager to gain any advantage he could for the impending battles and was the first to cast the spell on the day before Christmas. A golden nimbus enveloped him as he sat in the Grangers' living room opposite Hermione and Luna. Even as the girls watched, their best friend grunted as his body stretched and grew a few inches taller and his muscle mass filled out to become consistent with a normal fourteen-year-old boy who had not been neglected and abused all his life. Fortunately, the bonds restricting his magic were broken with the destruction of Dumbledore's wand, but his physical size, stunted by years of malnutrition and slavery at the hands of the Dursleys, was as scrawny as ever. Now, it seemed, with the casting of this spell he could feel his body changing to accommodate the physical demands this new discipline would require of him. He instinctively knew that, while this particular school was more offensive combat focused, and he now had the raw body mass to perform as needed, his new musculature needed to be honed. The knowledge that he suddenly found himself gifted with still needed to be transferred and implanted in his muscle memory, and that meant exercise. "Okay," he said as he started rubbing his aching muscles. "That was... unpleasant."

"Looking good though, love," Hermione said appreciatively.

He smiled at her, then winced as his stomach growled. "I think I need some food," he said. "All of a sudden I'm starving."

"That's hardly surprising, given how much you grew just now," Luna observed. "Besides that, how do you feel?"

"Like I need to exercise," he replied. "My discipline is called _Fist of the Heavens_. It's like I have all of this knowledge about combat – I know what to do and how to do it, but my body needs to _feel_ it, if that makes sense. But first," he said, climbing to his feet, "food! Would either of you like anything?" They responded in the negative, as they'd all finished lunch a short time earlier, and he turned toward the kitchen.

Hermione watched him go to the kitchen, a fond look on her face, only turning to face Luna when he disappeared within. "I wonder if we'll change like that," she said.

"It's possible. I suspect it won't be as dramatic though. If you think about it, he looks like a normal fourteen-year-old boy now, just more fit. I suspect that you and I will find ourselves a lot more toned than we are now, but I doubt we'll grow much taller. Our growth was never stunted, after all."

A shadow passed across the brunette witch's face. "Bloody Dursleys," she spat. "I'd like to strangle each and every one of them."

"As would I, sis," Luna agreed, her voice sad. "At least we can make sure that our Harry never goes back to them again."

"And if the opportunity ever arises to punish them without breaking any of our laws..."

"Then I'll be right there with you, rest assured."

The two girls sat on the floor together, lost in their own thoughts, while an Aerosmith video played on the television in the background. Harry returned a few minutes later with an enormous sandwich, a plate of crisps, and three sodas. He handed two of the drinks to the girls and opened his after taking his seat on the floor again.

"Who's next?" he said after taking a large bite of his food.

"I am," Hermione said. She chanted the incantation, and the golden light flared around her. Just as Luna had suggested, she did not grow but she did have some well-defined muscle mass added to her upper and lower body. The knowledge that flooded her mind indicated a combat discipline, but one that was more defensive in nature than Harry's. According to the book, she knew that her discipline was called _Defender of the Light_. Knowledge of wards and charms that could protect her and her allies came to her along with the martial knowledge of sword and shield tactics. Just like Harry had described, she too felt the need to exercise and transfer her newfound knowledge to her physical body. And like Harry, she was suddenly ravenous.

After giving her an admiring look accompanied by an appreciative whistle that caused her to blush, Harry offered to fix her a sandwich too.

"Not quite as large as yours though, please," she said. "Thank you."

He came back with two sandwiches. "I thought you might like one too, Luna," he said. "For after, I mean."

"You're probably right. Thank you, Harry."

The light that flashed around Luna after she recited the incantation was silver, not gold. Like Hermione, her musculature filled out, although not as much as her brunette friend. The knowledge given her, though, left her looking pensive. Without saying a word, she picked up her sandwich and took a bite, looking off into the distance as she slowly chewed.

Harry and Hermione shared a questioning glance. Neither of them had reacted to the spell quite the same as Luna had. What was so different about the effect on her? And what was on her mind?

Almost as if she could hear their unspoken questions, Luna came back to herself and looked at her two best friends. "Sorry about that," she said. "I've a rather important decision to make, and I must give it more thought."

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "Maybe we can help you find a solution."

Luna shook her head. "Thank you, but no. This is something I must figure out on my own. I know you and Harry want nothing but the best for me, and I appreciate it more than I can possibly say, but this must be my own decision without any outside influence. The blibbering humdingers are quite clear on that. I must know my own heart on this, without question. I promise I'll tell you about it as soon as I can though, okay?"

The other two readily agreed. Luna's behaviour confused them, to be honest, and her mysterious words did nothing to clarify what she was saying, but they both trusted her and knew that she would stand by them just as they'd stand by her. The blonde Ravenclaw wouldn't say anything else about it, so they all decided to finish getting ready for Christmas instead.

That evening, the Grangers prepared a lavish holiday feast and invited Sirius, Remus Lupin, and Andromeda Tonks and her family to dinner. Luna's father Xenophilius would have been invited, but he was in the middle of a hunt in the deepest jungles of Central America for the illusive coatl. Harry had never had such a wonderful holiday as he was enjoying with his girlfriend, their best friend, and what family they could safely pull together. Even Hermione, who had grown up loved and supported by her parents, couldn't remember having a better holiday.

The next day, Christmas, they did nothing but celebrate with the Grangers. Amongst other things, Harry received a collection of hardcover books from Hermione and Luna. Knowing how much he'd enjoyed _The Chronicles of Narnia,_ at Hermione's suggestion the girls got him the six volumes (so far) of a new fantasy series called _The Wheel of Time_ , by an American author named Robert Jordan. Hermione had heard excellent reviews of the series, although she had not yet read them herself. Likewise, at Harry's suggestion, he and Luna presented Hermione with a special hardcover collector's set of Jane Austen's novels, one of Hermione's favourite authors. Harry and Hermione in turn bought Luna a Sony Discman and several CDs of her new favourite musicians she'd discovered on MTV, including Alice Cooper, Metallica, Guns 'n' Roses, AC/DC, Pink Floyd, Def Leppard, and several others. They had opened the original packaging of the Discman earlier so Hermione could carefully etch protecting and energizing runes into the plastic casing so that Luna could enjoy her music without worrying about replacing the batteries or having the ambient energy of highly-concentrated magical areas such as Hogwarts or Diagon Alley disrupt the delicate electronics.

Harry had also taken it upon himself to get his girls one more special gift each. Hermione received a gold necklace from Harry with a gold Celtic love knot inset with emeralds, which resulted in him finding himself knocked over flat on his back with his girlfriend lying on top of him, passionately kissing him. At the amused throat-clearing of her parents, accompanied by Luna's giggles, the two teens separated, blushing bright red.

He then handed Luna his other present for her. She opened it to find her own gold necklace, from which hung a gold unicorn encrusted with diamonds. She held it up and looked at the tiny figurine, a thoughtful look on face. "Why a unicorn, Harry?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I can't say, really. There was just something about it that made me think immediately of you. If you don't like it..."

"No, I love it!" she cut in, holding it to her chest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let you think I didn't. You know this is the first piece of jewellery anyone has ever given me? That makes it very special."

Harry smiled at her. "I'm glad, then. Happy Christmas, Luna."

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

***DIM***

The Yule Ball couldn't really be called a disaster, but it was far from the grandiose spectacle that Dumbledore had originally envisioned. There was still an atmosphere of shock and unease regarding all activities surrounding the tournament. Barty Crouch Senior had made a full recovery, though his face still bore the scars of dragonfire – and Madam Pomfrey was not at all reluctant to throw that in his face every time he rubbed the stump of his right arm – and young Percival Weasley now served as the Ministry official in the late Ludo Bagman's place, though he still seemed to answer directly to Crouch. Amelia Bones had wanted to launch a full investigation into the Crouch family after the stunning revelation of Barty Crouch Junior, but Minister Fudge had stalled her. The Minister, thankfully, was always reluctant to pursue any course of action that may paint the Ministry of Magic in a negative light.

The Durmstrang contingent was still particularly morose after the horrible death of their headmaster. Even now in his dreams he could hear Karkaroff's shrieks of agony as the former Death Eater-turned-headmaster perished in magical fire. Durmstrang's deputy headmaster, originally left behind to oversee the school, was immediately promoted to headmaster and portkeyed to Hogwarts as soon as he appointed a new deputy. The Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum, seemed to have taken his headmaster's death particularly hard and had barely spoken a word to anyone not from his school. He was currently sitting next to his date, a girl from his same school with long black hair, and staring at the dance floor, seemingly lost in thought.

Beauxbatons was less subdued, and many of the students had shown up with dates from Hogwarts, including their champion, Fleur Delacour. She had entered the Great Hall escorted by Hogwarts' own Roger Davies from Ravenclaw, but now looked as if she regretted her choice of young men. Davies' glazed expression seemed to indicate that he had succumbed to the French girl's veela allure, even though she had obviously toned it down as much as she could. Like Krum, she was staring at the dance floor, ignoring her date's incessant babbling. Madame Maxime, the headmistress, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying her night. Escaping the dragonfire with minimal injury, she did not have so much as a scar to remind her of the disaster. She was accompanied tonight by Hagrid, and the two looked like they were having a wonderful time of it.

Cedric Diggory was dancing with his girlfriend, Cho Chang. Of the three champions, he was the one who appeared to be taking everything in stride the most. Though he too was shaken by the aftermath of the first task, the presence of Miss Chang in his life helped him recover quicker than most. It was a testament to the effectiveness of love, no doubt. He truly wished that he could allow young Harry to have such a bond with an acceptable witch from a pureblood light family, but he needed the boy pliable and willing to give up his life for the good of the wizarding world. That would be much easier if he thought he had nothing to live for, and romantic entanglements of any kind would hinder that. No, he needed to figure out some way to get Miss Granger out of the picture as soon as possible. Even if the boy was allowed to have a girlfriend, the muggleborn witch was completely inappropriate. Though she came from a light family, Miss Lovegood was not much better. Her father was as mad as a hatter, and she herself was one of the most unpredictable people he'd ever met. Young Ginevra Weasley was a much more acceptable option, if such a relationship could be allowed at all.

The thought of the Weasleys made his head start hurting. Though they were a very acceptable light-side pureblood family – in other words, one that he could easily influence – they presented a series of headaches all their own. Just tonight, Ronald Weasley nearly got into a fight with Neville Longbottom, who was escorting his sister Ginevra to the ball. That, unfortunately, was the most exciting thing that had happened tonight. Minerva had managed to end it before anything more than words were thrown, insisting that Ronald leave the ball. His date, Lavender Brown, was not at all amused and had slapped the youngest Weasley son before he left and went back to his dormitory.

 _Damn Harry Potter!_ The boy was conspicuous in his absence from tonight's festivities. If only he had cooperated like he should have! It was plain to see that the influence of Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood had disrupted his control over the boy. And to top it all off, he had yet to hear back from Severus. If his spy did not return from Voldemort's side in time for the start of classes he would have to find a temporary replacement. He might even have to take over the classes himself if he could not find anyone willing to join the Hogwarts staff on a temporary basis. He didn't even consider Andromeda Tonks for the position. She had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she was here solely for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood. Now that they were gone – _and damn them for that_ – he had no illusions that Andy Tonks would stay.

With a long-suffering sigh, the headmaster looked out across the dance floor, which was less than half-full. The music was provided by a popular wizard rock band called "The Weird Sisters" – despite the fact that there was not one female in their number – and although they played enthusiastically, the response from the students was lacklustre at best.

At the rate the tournament was proceeding, he suspected that he might as well be grateful that nobody had lost their life tonight.

***DIM***

During the autumn and winter months of 1994, all around the world but always in isolated coastal areas, mysterious disappearances were discovered by local police and law enforcement. Reports were filed as usual, but few if any of the local officials suspected that the disappearances were anything more than unusual activities unique to the specific areas. There were not enough occurrences of this phenomenon in any one spot to trigger investigations on an international or even federal scale. People disappearing, while not commonplace, was still not unheard of, and most of the disappearances were attributed to "normal" events ranging from people simply running off, or going on holiday without saying anything to anyone, to being the victims of local murderers in at least three cases. Locations ranged from remote islands in the Caribbean and South Pacific to rural coastal areas in Australia, South Korea, Costa Rica, Sierra Leone, Norway, Chile, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Madagascar, Brazil, Turkey, Namibia, the United States, and many others. There were a few instances where someone claimed to witness the abductions, but reported seeing strange fish-like or lizard-like creatures coming out of the water and taking the missing persons away. All such reports were immediately discounted as the ravings of lunatics, and as there was never more than one such witness in any given location, and as there was no collaboration between investigations, either regional or international, no connections were ever made.

A few days before Christmas, residents of Delacroix, Louisiana, a small fishing town deep in the bayous about fifteen miles southeast of New Orleans, sent several complaints to the St. Bernard Parish Sheriff's Office of a fire burning across the channel in the direction of Lake Lery accompanied by the distant rhythmic pounding of drums. A few of the complainants also mentioned strange, unearthly cries echoing across the swamp. The next day, the sheriff and several teams of deputies took boats into the myriad channels and canals cut through the swampy marshland, in the direction the fire was reported. They finally located an island with several old canoes and small fishing boats, all seemingly abandoned. In the middle of a copse of cypress trees, though, they found the remains of a bonfire, along with a dozen corpses. The investigation revealed that it was most likely a mass suicide, as the apparent leader had a jug containing a foul-smelling concoction that was eventually revealed to contain lethal amounts of arsenic, and an empty cup lay near each body, each cup containing residue from that same deadly mixture. Not a single injury was found on any of the bodies, which struck the investors as doubly odd due to the copious amounts of blood splattered all around the fire. From the amount of blood, along with the marks on the damp ground, it looked like there had been at least half a dozen more people there last night. People who were now missing.

There seemed to be a ritualized element to this macabre scene – at least that was the general consensus due to the fact that the leader also had a stone tablet with strange writing on it. None of them had ever before seen anything like the eldritch symbols carved on the tablet, but all agreed that it gave them the creeps. There was something… _off_ about the engravings, for lack of a better term. Though obviously stationary, as any writing carved in stone would be, the strange letters almost seemed to writhe and crawl their way across the tablet as if they were alive – especially if one were to look at them peripherally. The moment one focused on them, they would seemingly freeze in place. One curious deputy made a rubbing with a pencil and a sheet of paper torn from his notepad, only to find that the unsettling effect carried over to the rubbing as well.

And if there was something off about the writing, the intricate relief carved into the tablet above the writing was downright _wrong_. The background showed what appeared to be part of a city but not one that human hands had ever constructed. Though it was impossible to determine the scale, it was evident that the stone blocks depicted in the carving were massive. The angles were all wrong, and the buildings frankly had the impression of something designed by MC Esher, though nowhere near as pleasing to the eye. What was truly disturbing, though, was the figure depicted in the foreground. It was a corpulent bipedal figure, sporting vicious clawed hands and feet at the ends of its long, powerful limbs, and with large, draconic wings sprouting from its back. Its bulbous head tapered to a cold, inhuman face from which dangled a myriad of writhing, grasping tentacles. Just looking at the relief and the squirming letters filled each of the deputies with unease if not dread.

Autopsies were performed, reports were filed, and all evidence collected and stored in a large evidence box, including the tablet, the jug (now sealed and accompanied by a chemical analysis of its contents), the pencil rubbing, the cups, and all photographs that were taken of the scene. The sheriff, realizing that his deputies had done all they could, and that further analysis would require more expertise than he had available, forwarded the report to the Federal Bureau of Investigation field office in New Orleans.

Early morning on Christmas Eve, two nondescript men wearing street clothes showed up to the sheriff's office with the report in hand to speak with him.

"I'm Miles Braddock, and this is Bill Stevens," one of the men said. His dialect had a slight English lilt to it. "We're here about that mass suicide you and your men found out near Delacroix Island."

"Y'all FBI?" the sheriff asked as he shook their hands.

"No, we're not with any government agency, but we are fully sanctioned for this type of work. Here are our credentials, along with an authorized letter of intent. Feel free to contact the governor's office to confirm."

The sheriff perused the letter and made the call just to double-check. Fifteen minutes later, he came back. "You fellas checked out fine. Kinda thought the feds would take this, though. Heard there's a fella up in D.C. that likes weird shit like this."

Braddock smiled. "Yes, we're well aware of him. We've even been known to throw him a lead from time to time. The truth is, his heart's in the right place but he's a little too high-profile. He's aggravated quite a few people high up in the government and in the military, not to mention that he's liable to spill whatever he knows to the public if he can get solid proof on whatever he's after. Fortunately, his partner manages to keep him grounded. Even though she's a sceptic, she always gives him the opportunity to prove his conjectures. They make a hell of a team, actually, but we really don't want them getting involved in this. If it's what we're afraid of then they'll be in way over their heads."

The sheriff gave him an uncomfortable look, but then shrugged. "Well, so long as you fellas have it under control. We'll take y'all out to the island by boat, and whenever you're done we'll come on back here where you can sign for the evidence. There's somethin about this whole case that gives me the creeps, but there's also somethin familiar about it all. Can't put my finger on it, though."

A couple of hours later, Braddock and Stevens were walking around the remains of the fire and comparing the grounds with the photos taken of the scene while the sheriff looked on. Stevens held a strange box-like device with what looked like a tuning fork extending from one end. A small glass shield on the device's face contained what looked to the sheriff like one of the plasma balls that could be purchased for a few dollars at any number of novelty stores in a local shopping mall. After adjusting a few archaic-looking dials on the device, Stevens looked at his partner.

"Confirmed positive," he said.

"I thought as much, judging from the photos of the tablet," Braddock said. "Still…"

"I know," he sighed. "Not at all what we need right now, is it?"

"Nope. Let's collect the evidence and report in. This'll take top priority, unless I quite miss my guess." He turned to the sheriff. "Thanks for bringing this to our attention. You just may have saved thousands of lives."

The sheriff paled. "What's goin on?"

"Trust me, you're happier not knowing. If we're too late on this, you'll know soon enough anyway. The whole bloody world will know." He paused for a moment, considering, then looked back at the sheriff. "I suspect the reason this might seem familiar to you is that there was a similar ritual that was held in this general area back in the early 1900s, '06 or '07 if I'm not mistaken. No one could really make heads or tails of it, even though several of the cultists were taken into custody. They were all quite mad, you see, and only one of them was able to tell more than a few disjointed words. Even he, though, refused to say what he was a part of and what they were hoping to accomplish."

"So how do you know about all this?"

Braddock smiled. "It's our place to know of things like this, plus we were fortunate enough to receive a rather enlightening box of artefacts and notes back in the thirties. And that, my friend, is all I am at liberty to reveal."

The trip back to the sheriff's office was quiet, other than Braddock making a quick phone call on his Motorola MicroTAC to the pilot waiting for them at New Orleans International Airport. The two investigators took possession of the evidence box and immediately drove to the airport where a private jet waited for them. A short while later they were on their way to San Diego.

On the plane, Braddock studied the tablet for half an hour while Stevens made several phone calls to the various research teams they worked with. After confirming his suspicions, Braddock called his own supervisor.

"Good evening, Father," he said. "We've confirmed that Delacroix was part of the ritual. Stevens found traces of dark energy at the scene, and the tablet is legitimate. The ritual is unmistakable."

"So we can anticipate more of the cults following suit," the voice on the other end of the line said with a thick Italian accent.

"Correct. There's no way of knowing whether this is the first incident or not, so we must assume that the ritual is close to being complete, if not already."

"Where are you going now?"

"San Diego. I don't need to remind you that the last time the creature awoke, it required a ship to ram it at full speed to send it back to its slumber. Cruiser-Destroyer Group 5 is fortunately out on manoeuvres in the Pacific right now, and out of all the world's military might I feel the U.S. Navy is the best equipped to deal with the threat. We'll just need you to arrange for transport and a meeting with the admiral."

"Very well. I will inform you where to go once you arrive in San Diego. Is there anything else?"

"Not at this time. Stevens is talking with Research. The disappearance of the Necronomicon left too many questions. There is no way it could have been taken, especially without a single trace of evidence, yet it obviously was. I would suspect the gifted, but we've been careful to keep their world separate from ours. If it was one of them, I would also expect to see more incursions and other signs. That's what Stevens has Research looking for."

"Excellent. I will speak with them myself and classify this as Most Urgent." The Italian sighed. "I cannot for the life of me understand why Miskatonic refused to destroy that damnable book. Now, I fear, it may be too late."

"We still breathe, Father. As long as there is life there is hope."

"Well said, my son. Go with God."


	10. Webs

The discovery of the remains of Peter Pettigrew's corpse and Frank Longbottom's exsanguinated body threw the magical government into an uproar. With Director Bones leading the investigation and being the first to make a positive identification on the pieces of Wormtail's broken body, there was no way for Minister Fudge and his flunkies to deny that until very recently Pettigrew was very much alive, and very much a Death Eater. Amelia Bones, being the professional that she was, immediately called into question everything that was supposedly known regarding Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and their respective roles in the murders of both the Potter family and the dozen muggles at the scene of Black's confrontation of Pettigrew.

Much to Fudge's chagrin, the evidence uncovered in Bones' investigation seemed to support the ridiculous story those two pain-in-the-arse children had spun earlier that summer. Fortunately, Bones was still unaware of what had transpired at Hogwarts that evening, other than the fact that Black had been captured but somehow managed to escape. Professor Snape had been beside himself with rage, to the point that he had outright accused Potter of having something to do with it despite the fact that the boy couldn't have possibly been involved due to being laid up in the infirmary the whole time. That had certainly been an embarrassing evening, and Fudge had been only too happy to leave the school that night.

Nevertheless, Bones nearly chewed his hindquarters off once she discovered that there were no records whatsoever of any trial or interrogation that Black had undergone. She made it clear that she wasn't blaming him for Black being imprisoned without a trial, thankfully – they had the previous Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold; the former head of the DMLE, Bartemius Crouch Senior; and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore to thank for that. No, she tore into him for issuing a "Kiss on Sight" order for a man who was conceivably innocent – "After all, he never was convicted, was he?" – and for stationing the dementors that would administer said Kiss at a school filled with children, of all places. "It's not enough that the Ministry threatens to arbitrarily end the life of a Lord of an Ancient and Noble house without due process of law, we have to threaten the lives of our very future on top of that?" Expressed that way, Fudge realized that his plan to keep the Ministry from looking bad had failed spectacularly.

"How can we salvage this?" he asked, almost whining.

"You mean, how can we save your reputation?" Bones spat. "Never mind. All you have to do is rescind the 'Kiss on Sight' order, explaining how new evidence has come forward to suggest that Black has never had a trial. If you play it right, you can be seen as fixing a grievous mistake made by your predecessors. Hell, present the evidence I've found. Explain that Pettigrew was alive after all, and a Death Eater on top of that. I can back that up. As a Death Eater, he certainly doesn't deserve an Order of Merlin. Revoke it, promise that Black gets a trial under veritaserum, and you should be fine. And give me Crouch Senior! We have him linked with his son's escape from Azkaban – his son who was a duly-convicted Death Eater – and now with the incarceration of a potentially innocent man, a decorated and respected auror, no less, without a trial, in that exact same hellhole."

That sounded fine to Fudge. Of course it would be easier to sweep everything under the rug and pretend that nothing was wrong, but if a scandal was inevitable it was much better to lay it at the feet of predecessors and political opponents. And given the recent events at the debacle of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, it didn't seem that Crouch or Dumbledore would have a very effective response. "So was it the vigilante that murdered Pettigrew?"

"Yes. Drew and quartered him too, it looks like. While he was still alive, as best we can tell. And, of course, the word _Justice_ written in his blood on the wall of the chapel, in the middle of where each piece of Pettigrew's body was nailed up, either through a wrist or an ankle."

Fudge shuddered. "We have to stop this madman!" he said. "How many people has he murdered now?"

"Quite a few," Bones said. "However, what do you expect my aurors to do? Our department has been gutted." She diplomatically refrained from mentioning that she knew who was chiefly responsible for those budget cuts – it was, in fact, the first person killed by the assassin, Lucius Malfoy. She knew full well that Fudge had been firmly in Malfoy's pocket. With the arrogant blond ponce's death, the opportunity for a less corrupt government had finally come to pass. She, for one, was quite thankful, the gruesome details of his demise notwithstanding. "We need more funding, not only for equipment but for recruits as well. Let me build my auror and hit wizard force, and we'll see about tracking down the killer before he can do any more damage."

Fudge agreed, and word was spread throughout the auror force that while Black was to be apprehended if found, no dementors were to be called and he was to be brought in alive at all costs. Meanwhile, a statement was issued through the _Daily Prophet_ detailing the results of Bones' investigation, along with the rescinding of the "Kiss on Sight" order and an invitation for Black to turn himself in so he could finally stand trial.

***DIM***

It was two days before the New Year when Luna approached her two best friends. They had returned to Grimmauld Place on Boxing Day, much to Sirius' joy, and they had spent the next few days cataloguing the haul from Glastonbury Tor. They were all amazed at the different types of armour, weaponry, and accessories, all with potent enchantments unheard of in the wizarding world. The blonde girl had been somewhat distant ever since Christmas Eve, though it was obvious she had a lot on her mind as opposed to being upset with anyone.

She acknowledged that fact first while apologizing for any upset she may have caused. "I have a unique opportunity," she explained, "but the sacrifice is great." Hesitantly, she reached out and took her friends' hands, joining them all together in a circle. "Before I make my decision, though, I have to know one thing." She couldn't quite meet their eyes, and in fact began to blush.

"What is it, Luna?" Hermione gently prodded after a moment. She could tell her friend was nervous about something but was determined to support her no matter what.

"The last thing I want is to cause any trouble for you two," she said at length. "I know you are committed to each other like I've never seen before, and I'd never do anything to disrupt that. I am sure you two will be getting married one day and have an amazing life together." She took a deep breath and continued in a softer voice. "All that being said, though, could you have ever accepted me as a second wife and sister-wife?"

The other two were gobsmacked. Both had grown up in the nonmagical world and were thus naturally of the understanding that a marriage was between just two people.

Hermione was the first to recover somewhat. "Is... is that normal in the magical world?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

"Not exactly, but it's not unheard of either."

It took another moment for Hermione to collect her thoughts. "Luna, I've never even considered such a possibility, to be honest."

"Me neither," Harry added.

"I really don't like the idea of sharing my man," the brunette witch continued. "If it was anyone besides you, though, I'd never even consider it. I've told you before, you're as important to me as Harry, just in your own unique way, and I know you'll be an integral part of our future together."

Her boyfriend nodded his agreement. "You're as close as family to us, Luna. Closer than most, even. Like Mione said, you would be the only one we'd even consider for such a position."

"We love you, Luna," Hermione finished.

Luna smiled, her eyes brimming over with tears. "Thank you so much," she said. "You have no idea what that means to me. In some ways it makes my decision harder, but in others it makes it more honest."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"The spell that identified my discipline said that I am best suited to the one called _Nature's Beloved._ Amongst other things, it will allow me to bond with a unicorn, and not just like a familiar bond either. It will be my constant friend and companion and will even let me ride it into battle like a war horse. That's why I asked you about the unicorn necklace you gave me, Harry. If I do this, though, I am in effect taking a vow of chastity. Otherwise the unicorn will not allow the bond, and if I get married one day I will have to give the unicorn up."

Her statement stunned her two friends. They knew that there were unicorns in the Forbidden Forest by Hogwarts, but never had they even heard of a unicorn voluntarily entering such a relationship. Hagrid had never even implied that such was possible.

"What does that mean, Luna?" Hermione asked. "For your future, I mean."

"I suspect that I will have less to do with society than I do now," Luna said. "It's quite alright, though. I've always loved the forest, much more so than the city. It's like a second home to me."

"What about us?" Despite herself, Hermione felt her own eyes filling with tears. In the short time they'd known her, Luna had become an indispensable part of their life. Her absence would be an open wound that would be long in healing.

Luna smiled at her. "Don't worry, Hermione," she whispered. "You and Harry will always be part of my life, I promise." She leaned forward and pulled the other girl into a tight embrace. "I can do this now with a clear heart. Knowing that you and Harry accept me like you do, even willing to consider me as a second wife, allows me to follow this discipline because I choose to do so, not that I do so because I have no other options. Thank you for giving me that." She pulled her wand out from behind her ear where she frequently carried it and removed the glamours that disguised the pointed tips of her ears. "You are my family," she whispered. "Never again will I have to hide who I am."

Her two best friends wrapped their arms around her as the three pledged their eternal love and loyalty to each other.

***DIM***

Sirius was ecstatic when he read that at long last he was to be given a trial. Andy and Remus went to the Ministry of Magic with him to support him during his trial. Harry, Hermione, and Luna wanted to go as well, but they knew that Dumbledore would probably be there, and if he was then there was no doubt that he would cause trouble of some kind.

Andy came back at the end of the day, explaining that Sirius had been interrogated by Director Bones, and was currently in a holding cell overnight for his own protection while he waited for his trial scheduled for the next day. Remus opted to stay with him, which Bones had allowed. Convinced of his innocence, Bones took extra measures to make sure that the cell was as comfortable as possible and that his meals were excellent. She even allowed him a glass of wine with his dinner that night.

While disappointed that his godfather was still at the Ministry, Harry nevertheless remained optimistic about the trial tomorrow. After studying and practicing some of the new spells they'd learned from the _Divina Bellica_ , the teens turned in for the night.

Andy left the next morning after breakfast to return to the Ministry. The trio made an honest attempt to continue with their studies that day, but their thoughts kept wandering to the trial. Harry especially grew increasingly nervous as the day progressed. Would his godfather finally be exonerated, thereby granting him the freedom to openly live with a real family of his own, rather than technically hiding with a fugitive? Or would Sirius be thrown back into Azkaban to rot?

The girls did not allow him to withdraw into himself as he would have as recently as a year ago. Hermione especially distracted him with surprise kisses every so often, and even Luna would come up and hug him at random, usually with a comment about hugs being particularly effective in scaring off wrackspurts.

Late that afternoon, the floo activated and Sirius jumped through, followed closely by Remus and Andy, and let out a bellowing cry of exultation. "Free at last!" he exclaimed. The celebration lasted until well after dark, and the teens were allowed small glasses of wine to toast his freedom.

"By the way," he told them, "Dumbledore seemed especially put out with the whole situation, but Bones all but forced the trial through. For some reason he did not seem all that interested in hearing the truth of my innocence. I'm sure if it had been up to him I would've been sent back to Azkaban."

"I don't doubt it," Harry snorted. "Meddling old bastard. As long as you were still legally a fugitive, he was willing to make a token effort at helping you, or at least looking like he was, probably so that I'd think he was on my side and listen to him without questioning him. With you free, any claim he might have over me is erased for good. Now there is no way he can get me back under his thumb."

"You should've seen Amelia tear into him, pup," Sirius laughed. "To hear her tell it, you'd've thought he practically staged the whole thing with Wormtail just so I'd be locked away!"

As it was also New Year's Eve, Sirius invited Andy's husband Ted and their daughter Nymphadora to his house to ring in the new year. That night at midnight, Harry shared a long, passionate kiss with his girlfriend, then the two pulled Luna into their arms and simultaneously gave her a kiss on each cheek.

"Thanks for being a true friend," Hermione whispered in her ear.

"You'll always have a place with us," Harry reaffirmed in her other ear.

Her teary-eyed smile was all the thanks they needed.

The next day, New Year's Day, they told Sirius that they needed to go to Hogwarts, preferably before classes resumed. "Not Hogwarts specifically," Harry hastened to add, "just the Forbidden Forest. We need to take Luna there."

"I presume that you'd prefer the old goat to remain unaware of your presence," Sirius observed.

"If at all possible."

"Best thing to do then would be to apparate to the Shrieking Shack," his godfather mused, referring to the ramshackle building on the outskirts of Hogsmeade that was rumoured to be haunted. Years ago, during his own matriculation at Hogwarts, the Shrieking Shack was where Remus Lupin had been allowed to safely transform into his werewolf form every full moon. There was an underground secret passage leading from there to right under the Whomping Willow, a strange tree that Harry was half-convinced was possessed by a demon due to its penchant for violently attacking any living creature that came within reach of its limbs. The tree stood by itself on the northwest side of the school, not too far from the Forbidden Forest. A small hill hid it from the view of anyone in the vegetable patch and greenhouses on the north side of Hogwarts, while the crumbling remains of an old curtain wall, now long disconnected from the rest of the school, protected it from the view of the school itself.

Harry and the girls liked that plan, as it would minimize their time out in the open on the school grounds.

"We just need to be careful in the woods," Sirius cautioned. "It's not called the Forbidden Forest for no reason."

"We certainly don't want to run into Aragog or any of his family," Harry agree. At Sirius' quizzical look, he elaborated. "Acromantulas. Hundreds of them."

His godfather paled. "Right. Definitely do not want to meet them. It'll probably be too cold for them anyway. Hopefully. Best to dress warm then, and what about that armour that you kids found?"

He was referring to several cuirasses they had found, each made of overlapping plates of leather rivetted together and secured in place with multiple buckled straps. Dyed black that shifted to a dark red-orange at the edges of each piece of leather, the armour, while simple in design, was stunning in appearance. Hermione was beside herself when she read in the catalogue that each cuirass was enchanted to render the wearer immune to all death spells and magical death effects, such as the Draught of Living Death, all necromantic spells, and spells that attacked or drained one's energy. "That means that we may have protection from the killing curse!" she had exclaimed. Hesitant to stake their lives on it, the others nevertheless agreed that wearing this armour would certainly be beneficial – and as it was made of leather, it wouldn't weigh terribly much.

Each cuirass had a series of runes stamped on the inside, and Hermione explained to the others that they would each have to put a drop of their own blood on a particular rune set before donning it for the first time in order to make it resize to a perfect fit. After that, the cuirass would be considered their own and would resize itself as they grew.

The weapons were left alone, as none had any real-world experience wielding them. While the knowledge they possessed was the equivalent of the blademasters of old, the actual experience they needed was non-existent. A few weeks of training and practice, though, would start to give them that critical experience. In the meantime, they had no intention of staking their lives on untested equipment.

After donning the armour with heavy winter coats on top, Sirius apparated the three teens to the Shrieking Shack and they all went inside before they were seen. He led them down to the basement and opened the door to the secret passage. After what seemed like the better part of an hour but was probably only half that at the most, Sirius carefully opened the exit, reached out, and pressed a certain knot on the tree trunk.

"That calms the tree down for a couple of minutes," he explained. "That'll give us enough time to get out of range of its limbs."

The trio hurried after him and soon found themselves at the edge of the imposing woods. A light snow had started falling from the leaden sky by this point, but nothing was accumulating on the ground. The only sound they could all hear besides their breathing was the chill wind blowing through the oak, pine, beech, sycamore, and yew.

"Okay, we're here," Sirius whispered. "Now what?"

Harry and Hermione looked at Luna, who wore a faint smile on her face. Without a word, she stepped into the trees, following what looked like a faint game trail. Her two best friends traded a wordless glance with each other before falling in behind her. Sirius, muttering to himself under his breath, brought up the rear.

Five minutes later, he was sure that he didn't have a prayer of finding his way back. They were not following any of the trails, yet Luna seemed sure of where she was going. He hoped for all their sakes that she did. While winter this year did seem to be a relatively mild one, he had no intention of spending a winter night in northern Scotland outdoors with no shelter, mild or not. His godson and his girlfriend followed the strange blonde girl without complaint, looking for all the world like a young couple out on an afternoon stroll. All he knew for sure was that said strange blonde girl was leading them roughly northward, perhaps northwest, and that only because they crossed a stream that he suspected was the same one that flowed into the north end of the Black Lake. His sense of direction was confirmed a few minutes later as they came to a section of the forest a few minutes later where the trees had thinned somewhat to primarily bushes, with quite a few briers and brambles thrown in for good measure. Looking to his right through the sparse underbrush, he could identify the outlines of the greenhouses almost a half-mile distant.

It wasn't long before their way was obscured by a thick bank of fog. All four could feel the raw, magical energy emanating from whatever lay beyond. While the feeling they each experienced was certainly not the cloying, oppressive aura of evil, neither was it the peaceful serenity of unmistakeable good. Rather, this was the wild, primal force of the natural world, one that was not so much hostile to humans as unsympathetic to weakness. Sirius felt Padfoot, his animagus form, responding to the ancient power, knowing that here was sanctuary for him and his kind. Despite himself, he shifted to the form of a large, black dog and bounded up beside his godson and his girlfriend, who followed Luna up to the fog without hesitation.

The blonde girl chanted an arcane phrase and the thick, opaque miasma thinned to a soft mist with green motes of fae light dancing in its midst. She led the other three into the light haze, over ground covered in tall grass and woven through with vines. It was surprisingly easy to walk through the overgrown terrain, and if not for what their eyes were telling them they each would have sworn that they were walking across a freshly-cut lawn of soft, springy turf. It took them a few moments to realize that the bitter chill of the Scottish winter was gone, replaced with what felt like a pleasant spring afternoon.

"This is a druid grove," Luna whispered to the others, her voice filled with reverence. She pointed out four trees at the edge of the mist, each standing at a point of the compass, each covered with carven runes that glowed a soft, pleasant green. "I used to make one to stay in when my housemates locked me out of the tower at night, though mine only lasted through the night. This is old magic, powerful magic. I doubt the Romans had even come to these shores when this grove was lain down. Only my mother's people know these spells, and it would have taken them a full year of casting the spells on a daily basis to make a permanent grove."

"So are those trees anchors, like ward stones?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Somewhat. While they help hold the edge of the grove, their primary function is to defend it," Luna explained. "If someone or something hostile tries to enter, the fog will thicken to the point that it actually slows them down. Likewise, the grass and vines on the ground will attack, and if they do not turn around and leave, the nearest runic tree will also attack. They can uproot and move around, you see."

Hermione shuddered. The whomping willow was bad enough, she thought, remembering the story of Harry and Ron barely escaping the temperamental tree after crashing Mr. Weasley's flying car into it at the beginning of their second year. She didn't want to think about the damage such a tree could cause if it could move around.

"What's next, then?" Harry asked, looking around.

"We should all take a seat," Luna said. "This may take a while, I'm afraid. I have to spend some time fasting and in meditation."

"How long should that take?"

"No idea." Her rueful smile was nonetheless cheerful.

"Meditation certainly wouldn't hurt our own disciplines, I'm sure," Harry mused.

Padfoot changed back to his human form. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

"No, you are," Luna responded with a cheeky grin.

Sirius blinked. It wasn't often that he had one of his favourite personal jokes turned back on himself. "You know what I meant," he groused. "You're expecting us to just wait around here while you meditate, waiting for something to happen? It could take all night! Hell, it could take days!"

"You can always chase squirrels while we meditate," Hermione suggested, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Chase squirrels..." Sirius shook his head. "If I didn't know you were just taking the mickey I'd be upset," he said at length. "Never let it be said that a true Marauder failed to stand for those under his care! I'm here to support you, and here I'll stay."

"Good boy," Harry deadpanned.

"All three of them, dammit," the elder Marauder muttered under his breath, deliberately looking away. He knew he'd collapse in laughter if he made eye contact with any of them, his last shreds of dignity going up in smoke.

The three teens traded amused smiles before settling down in a tiny circle. Vines immediately sprang up from the ground underneath them, shaping themselves and drawing the three back into soft, comfortable seats. Harry and Hermione knew that they were not required to be here, but leaving Luna here alone was unthinkable. The bond the three shared was still in its infant stage of development, but already they could tell that it went much deeper than even blood. Luna was their sister in all but blood, maybe even closer than that, and they vowed that they would never leave her side, just as she'd vowed never to leave theirs.

Seeing the young ones slip into a meditative trance, Sirius transformed back into Padfoot, appointing himself as guard.

The thin afternoon shadows lengthened as dusk approached with no sign of the teens awakening. Padfoot stood and stretched before walking over and flopping down beside Harry. The sense of peace the grove offered to one of Padfoot's kind was overwhelming, and it wasn't long before the big black dog's eyes were closed in slumber, his tail occasionally wagging in the midst of some pleasant canine dream.

All through the night the trio sat, hands clasped in meditation. The early morning sky was starting to turn grey in the east when Luna's eyes shot open. Her silver orbs almost seemed to glow as her two friends came out of their own trances. "We need to go," she said, her voice commanding.

Hearing her voice, Padfoot woke up as well, stood, and shook himself vigorously before sitting back on his haunches.

"Lead the way, Luna," Harry said as he took his girlfriend's hand.

Though they had remained in a seated position for the entire night and much of the previous afternoon, none of the teens had so much as a stiff muscle in their entire body. In fact, none of the three could recall ever having as restful a night's sleep.

Luna took them deeper into the forest, Padfoot trotting through the woods at their side like a guardian shadow. After they'd been walking for the better part of an hour, they all noticed the early morning sunlight glistening off frozen droplets of water seemingly hanging in the air. "Spider webs," Luna pointed out, gesturing ahead. Sure enough, the sparkling webs grew thicker as they progressed deeper into the forest.

"Great," Harry muttered. He recognized the thick webs draping the trees as belonging to acromantulas, gigantic spiders that could easily grow to the size of a car. He'd had an up-close, personal encounter with an entire nest of them back in second year during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco, along with Ron Weasley. Hermione at that time had been lying petrified in the infirmary, the critical clue to the monster's identity still clutched in her frozen hand. To this day, just the thought of how close he'd come to losing her forever made him clench up inside.

As if sensing his thoughts, the gorgeous brunette at his side squeezed his hand and gave him a soft, loving smile. Together they stayed close behind their younger friend as she led them deeper into the frozen woods. Feeling a growing sense of unease, Padfoot moved closer to the three teens as well. Acromantula silk was some of the strongest natural fibre produced in the world, even in its unrefined state, and it would be a disaster to get caught up in the raw, sticky webbing.

From up ahead, they heard a barking sound accompanied by thrashing in the underbrush. A moment later, it was followed by a chittering sound and chitinous clacking. "Come on," Luna said, quickening her pace as she brandished her wand.

The thick acromantula webs arched up into the naked treetops, creating a frozen canopy that was deceptively beautiful, belying the horrifying nature of the aberrant creatures that spun them. Harry couldn't remember how large the nest was, as it was dark when he and Ron had last been there, but he knew it would have to be large enough to accommodate several hundred of the nightmare spiders. As impressive as these webs were, they could only be the outlying ones. He was certain that the shadows he saw moving overhead were the giant spiders that still made occasional appearances in his dreams, and accordingly kept his eyes upon them. One of the larger shadows rushed through the webs, dropping down from the treetops on a thick cord of silk.

Luna took in the scene at a glance. The colossal spider was immediately evident, as was its intended prey, a lone red deer, apparently a hind, caught by one of her front legs on a strand of sticky webbing stretched across the ground. The female deer bleated in terror as she caught sight of the unnaturally gigantic arachnid skittering its way toward her.

The blonde Ravenclaw knew that acromantulas were aberrations, unnatural monsters first created by wizards as far back as the eighteenth century in order to provide guards for treasure hoards, secure installations, or repositories of forbidden knowledge. Not to mention that they were native, if one could say they were native anywhere, to southeast Asian tropical rainforests, not temperate forests in northern Scotland.

She launched an overpowered cutting curse at the huge spider before it could get near the trapped deer with its deadly fangs. The pink ray of magical energy sliced through the creature's head and almost entirely through its engorged frame, spilling its black ichor across the frosty ground. It collapsed with a sharp clatter, its legs curling up in death.

"Watch out for others," she ordered as she approached the terrified deer. As Harry, Hermione, and Sirius, back in human form, took defensive positions around them, wands poised and spells on their lips, Luna sang a quiet, soothing song to the hind as she reached out a gentle hand and stroked her head. The deer's frightened blowing subsided as she felt reassurance flow from Luna's touch. Two quick severing charms later and the deer was free from the web. After freeing the deer, she carefully banished the severed ends of the web away so that no one else would get caught.

The chittering in the treetops peaked with the death of the gigantic spider. Even as Luna cut the entrapping web from the deer, other eight-legged monstrosities dropped down from overhead and tried to surround the interlopers. Sirius blasted into pieces two that tried to cut off their escape route, even as Hermione cleaved another three in half with her own cutting curse. As he was facing in the direction of the heart of the acromantula colony, Harry launched a fireball large enough to engulf a hippogriff toward the two coming at them from that direction.

He'd never heard a spider scream before, but now he heard two screaming in tandem as the superheated magical fire stuck to them like glue, cooking them alive. Their insides quickly began to boil, ultimately forcing their bloated carapaces to burst with loud pops, sending broken shards of still-burning chitin and slimy ropes of foul black liquid flying through the trees. Noxious steam arose from the shattered corpses, filling the air with the scent of death.

"Luna?" he queried, eyes darting up and around nonstop as he searched for more foes.

"Let's go," she said, leading the frightened deer away from the distant acromantula nest with a firm but gentle hand.

Harry doused the magical flames with a jet of water from his wand as the others fell in behind Luna, all keeping wary eyes open for danger. Though he wouldn't have any issues burning the acromantula menace from the forest, he had no intention of lingering here to make sure the fire did not spread to other parts of the woods. Nor did he have any intention of signalling Dumbledore or anyone else at Hogwarts to his location, which a raging fire most certainly would.

Fortunately, no other spiders bothered them as they retreated with the deer. They soon left the acromantula territory behind and decided to stop to rest when they reached a small clearing. While they caught their breath, Luna inspected the deer's leg that had gotten caught in the web. Once cut from the main web and after continued exposure to the frigid air, the remaining strands were brittle to the touch and she was able to scrape them off the deer's leg with her fingernails. Once she was done cleaning the remnants of the web from the deer, she arose to her feet, caressed the deer behind her ears, and kissed her on her velvety nose. "Take care, my friend, and stay away from the spiders," she admonished. The hind licked her on the cheek before turning and bounding off into the trees, the opposite direction from the vicious spiders.

Sirius shook his head, watching the red deer disappear into the treeline. "Mark my words, one of these days that damn nest of spiders is going to be a massive headache for someone," he remarked.

"Just hope it's not us," Harry agreed as he ran his fingers through his girlfriend's hair.

They heard a whinny from the edge of the clearing and turned to see a beautiful white equine figure with a pearl-white spiral horn growing from its forehead. Without saying a word, Luna approached the unicorn and knelt before it, her head bowed. The unicorn regarded her for several long minutes as the other three looked on in awe, and at last lowered its head and nuzzled the blonde girl. For a moment Hermione thought she could see a silver light flare around the two, and tears pricked her eyes as she was overwhelmed with the simple beauty of what she witnessed.

A radiant Luna stood and wrapped her arms around the unicorn's neck before leading her new friend over to meet the others. "This is Kaisa," she introduced, "but she said I can call her Sparkledust. I always wanted to be friends with a unicorn named Sparkledust."

"Never change, Luna," Hermione chuckled. She had to admit that she adored how her little blonde friend could offer truths so deep and profound that they would render a philosopher speechless one moment, and the very next just casually say something that one would expect from a hyper-imaginative child. It was impossible to try to categorize the quirky Ravenclaw, and she knew from personal experience that one would soon experience a towering headache were one to try. No, the best thing to do with Luna Lovegood was to accept her as she was and enjoy the ride.

After the introductions, during which Kaisa was friendly toward them all, though she wouldn't let Sirius touch her, the unicorn nuzzled Luna once more before fading away.

"Wait, where'd she go?" Harry asked.

"She knows that I have work yet to do where she cannot just tag along," Luna explained. "She'll come when I need her, though. Even though we can't see her, I can still feel where she is just as she can feel where I am, and we can always hear each other too."

Sirius looked around. "So there's really no more reason to stay here, then?"

"Not at all."

"Good. As much as I'm glad you've bonded with your new friend, this whole wood makes me nervous. The sooner we're shut of it the better, I say."

"Can you apparate from here?" Hermione asked.

Sirius looked around. "I could, but getting back here is the trick. These woods all look alike to me, and there's nothing that really stands out to guarantee that I'd show up back here. No, the best thing is to get back to the Shrieking Shack first, and then we can get back to London."

Luna led them unerringly through the woods but stopped as they neared the forest edge nearest to the whomping willow. "Trouble," she whispered, pointing toward the temperamental tree.

"Oh, no," Hermione groaned. "What the hell is _he_ doing?"

Like an emaciated bat, the familiar form of Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and all-around arsehole of Hogwarts paced back and forth near the hidden passage to the Shrieking Shack, intently studying the ground just out of reach of the tree's bludgeoning limbs.

"We'll have to go the long way around," Sirius whispered, pointing back through the trees to the south. "We can do it at the gates though."

"Follow me," Luna said. "And stay quiet." She led them south, moving like a ghost through the trees. They could see the back of Hagrid's house and his little garden as they carefully crossed over one of the main trails through the forest and continued south. At last they came to the southern edge of the forest and saw the wall surrounding the school property over a hundred yards away across open ground. Almost directly south were the main gates to the school, but they were clearly visible from the castle. Several hundred yards to the west, they could see where the forest grew right up to the wall. There was also a small copse of trees against the wall halfway between there and their current position, and as best they could tell was mostly blocked from the castle's view. Luna pointed to the sparse thicket. "We can climb one of the trees and slip over the wall that way," she said. "We should move quickly but don't run. If we run we may attract the attention of nargles, and you can be sure that they'll say something to the wrong people."

They made it across the open ground without incident and were over the wall and walking down the frozen dirt road on the other side a few minutes later. Once they reached the familiar landmark of the Hogwarts front entrance, Sirius apparated back to London, taking Luna and Hermione with him. A minute later he reappeared, grabbed Harry's arm, and the two of them disappeared.

***DIM***

"There was definitely someone there," Snape reported. "The ground was too frozen to hold a clear footprint, but I could tell that several people passed through recently."

"Was there anything that could give us a clue as to their identities?"

He shook his head. "Nothing besides the knowledge of the passageway itself," he said. "There is a short list of those who know of it, and I put Black and Potter at the top of it. I'm sure it had something to do with them," he sneered.

"Thank you for checking, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. The loss of his arm had affected him a lot more than he'd anticipated. Now that his magical core had stabilized – at a mere _fraction_ of the strength it used to have! – he had to relearn how to cast with his left hand. His attempts were slow and painful to bear, but he knew he had to persevere regardless. The loss of the Elder Wand, though, was what truly crippled him.

He was sure he'd seen several people leave the secret passage under the whomping willow last night, and given the circumstances had elected Severus to double check this morning after he'd gotten back from taking care of Voldemort. He was surprised that the dark lord had been rendered unconscious like that for so long. On the one hand, it was an inconvenience to his plans, but on the other hand it would give him time to find Harry Potter and arrange the final confrontation between the two wizards of prophesy.

It was imperative that he get young Harry back under his control again. The lad had a destiny to fulfil, after all! But thinking about getting the brat back under control was useless if he couldn't even _find_ the lad to begin with. He was sure that if someone were to look for the meaning of the word _frustrated_ his picture would be right there beside the definition.

Now that Sirius Black was a free man, he could no longer use the former inmate as leverage over the boy. He was positive that the boy's godfather was living at one of the many Black properties, and most likely Harry was with him. For all he knew, those two little strumpets were with them as well. But damned if he could recall where any of the properties were! He suspected fidelius charms at play and knew full well that the only effective way through that particular charm was through treachery on the part of the secret keeper. No, a fidelius charm meant they were all but untouchable.

 _If we cannot find them,_ he mused, _then they will have to be drawn out._ That meant that he would have to use family ties. And that meant he would be best served using the Granger chit's parents.

Xenophilius Lovegood was out because he was currently on one of his ridiculous safaris overseas.

Sirius' cousin Andromeda Tonks and her family, Ted and their daughter Nymphadora, was also out. Andromeda was a former Black, and though she did not ascribe to the bigoted pureblood ways of most of her kin and had even been disowned from her family of origin for marrying a muggleborn, she was still in her heart a Black – and they were one of the most vindictive families he knew. Even Sirius would likely want his head if the full extent of his involvement in Harry's upbringing was ever dragged out into the light. As long as he could get the brat to play his part at the appropriate time, though, then his legacy would be assured, and Sirius' vengeance would not matter in the slightest.

Remus Lupin was likewise out. As a werewolf, there was only so much influence he could exert over the beast. Up until now, he'd played upon Lupin's feelings of obligation stemming from him allowing the werewolf to attend Hogwarts in spite of his affliction. Unfortunately, he was no longer certain of the werewolf's loyalties.

He didn't even consider the Dursleys. Based on Harry's recent behaviour, if it were ever known that they were in trouble from the wizarding world, the boy would likely return to Privet Drive to _help_ the attackers, not save his relatives.

And that left the muggleborn's parents. Of all his options, they were the least protected, and the least likely to cause a problem, which made them the optimum choice. And given how close young Harry seemed to be to the girl, for her sake he'd be more likely to come out of hiding.

"Severus, I need you to pass on some information to Voldemort…" He proceeded to lay out his plan while the potions master listened with rapt attention.

"I will do so," Snape responded when he was done. "As soon as he wakes up. I have no idea what happened to him, but he is currently in a coma and there is no telling when he will awaken. He will require my presence on a daily basis until then. It may take days, weeks, or even months – I just don't know."

"Very well. It can't be helped. You are hereby granted an indefinite leave of absence until such time as he no longer requires your immediate assistance. Let me know as soon as he recovers so that we may set our own trap."

Dipping his head in acknowledgement, Snape left the headmaster's office. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile at the thought of the anguish the Potter brat would suffer from Dumbledore's plan. While he had every intention of seeing the dark lord Voldemort dead and gone for good, he had no love for the spawn of his arch nemesis, James Potter. If he could help accomplish the one while making the other suffer, then he would do so eagerly. And this new plan of Dumbledore's… well, he was looking forward to seeing the look on Potter's face, as well as his insufferable know-it-all mudblood bitch.

 **AN:** Next chapter will be the longest of the story, and none of it will be focusing on magical Britain. As indicated in the previous chapter, the effects of a natural-born magic-user utilizing the Necronomicon are on a worldwide scale - at least in this interpretation. The Sentinels came into being by necessity - I couldn't see a legitimate way for Potter and Co. to be able to travel around the world stomping out fires. Hope you all enjoy it! Thanks for reading and for all the reviews! I read each and every one, and while I'm not able to respond to all of them I do appreciate the feedback.


	11. The Sentinels

On the other side of the globe, deep in the South Pacific, Cruiser-Destroyer Group 5 of the United States Navy's Third Fleet had been pulled away from their training exercises and deployed in the vicinity of a spot in the ocean known to the maritime community as Point Nemo. This span of open water was unique in that it was known as the oceanic pole of inaccessibility, or the point that was the farthest from any land. The three nearest points of land were three tiny islands, each 1,670 miles away: to the north was Ducie Island, a tiny atoll in the Pitcairn Island group (said islands being where nine of the mutineers of the famous HMS _Bounty_ settled in 1790 with the native Tahitians that accompanied them, burning the _Bounty_ for good measure); to the northeast was Motu Nui, a small islet less than ten acres in area just south of Easter Island; and to the south was Maher Island, a frigid rocky island off the coast of Antarctica. Point Nemo was considered by many to be the loneliest, most desolate spot on the planet, and for this reason was also the target area for decommissioned satellites, space stations, and spacecraft to re-enter the atmosphere.

The battle group was led by the aircraft carrier USS _Kitty Hawk_ and included four cruisers, four destroyers, and two frigates. The group was accompanied by the USS _Louisville_ , a _Los Angeles_ -class fast attack submarine. The vessels as a group held a course that described a wide arc that circumnavigated Point Nemo. Reconnaissance flights were launched every six hours with instructions to keep their eyes open, though for what no one had specified.

None of the sailors besides the commander had any idea why they were cruising around in circles in this god-forsaken place, and none of them were happy about their deployment. The steadily deteriorating weather did not improve anyone's mood, least of all the commander, Rear Admiral Samuel Coleridge, who was quite displeased with following the directions of civilians, and one of them a foreign national to boot. His orders, though, came straight from the President, and as much as he disliked them, it was not his place to question them.

Miles Braddock and Bill Stevens had settled into the stateroom provided them and had turned it into a command post of sorts. Over the past two weeks, they had both worked feverishly to compile the information they were receiving from Research. The department had several hundred personnel working around the clock in many different countries, studying police and hospital reports from all across the globe, searching for anything out of the ordinary that fit a particular profile. The advent of the internet made this task much easier than it would have been even five years ago, but much of their research still had to be done on site, especially in the less-developed countries.

Besides the two bunks shoved up against a bulkhead, the rest of the compartment was given over to their mission. Maps adorned the bulkheads, the main one being a huge rendering of the entire world. Smaller maps were taped up as well, each one enlarging a different localized region of the earth – some by continent, some by individual nation, and still others by groupings of nations, such as the Mediterranean and southeast Asia. All of them had coloured arrows taped on, each arrow with a date written on it. In accordance with his orders, Admiral Coleridge gave them an area where they could set up the antenna of their Inmarsat satellite telephone, allowing them to stay in constant communication with their organization's research department and their own superiors.

The sheer volume of reports following consistent themes of disappearances in such a short amount of time was, in a word, disheartening. There were not enough personnel to track down every report, but the field teams that were sent out to the discovered ritual sites invariably reported back with positive traces of dark energy. The evidence was suggesting more and more that the unthinkable had happened.

Stevens ended his call and gave his partner a direct look. "There's a situation in London," he said without preamble. "An electrical crew disappeared without a trace in the Underground about a week ago during a routine inspection near one of the abandoned lines. One of the metro police officers commented that a homeless man claimed that a monster ate a friend of his down in that area at the end of November. They dismissed the man as a crank but still filed the report like they were supposed to. Police opinion aside, it's a good thing they did. Based on the man's description, the creature he claimed to see is a shoggoth."

Braddock nearly spit out his coffee. "A bloody _shoggoth?_ "

"Either that or he's a John Carpenter fan who suffered a break from reality. I'm inclined to believe him, though. According to the reports, the homeless are staying out of the Underground despite the cold. The deep tunnels are supposed to be kind of warm, at least compared to the streets, so that leads me to believe that there's _something_ down there that they don't want to be near."

"Damn. There hasn't even been a sighting of one since that doctor from Miskatonic University led that expedition to Antarctica back in 1930."

Stevens shook his head. "God, what's with those idiots?" he asked rhetorically. "Don't get me wrong, for the most part it's a decent enough school, but it's still got those elements that are always searching for arcane lore and wind up meddling with stuff beyond their understanding."

"I know, right? Anyway, the _Louisville_ hasn't picked up anything on sonar since we've reached Point Nemo, and you know they'll be the first to hear anything."

"We could be out here awhile, you know. Remember, last time it was almost twenty years between the earliest report of the ritual and when the dead city finally rose from the sea. You know as well as I that the Navy won't stay out here that long."

"True," Braddock conceded, "but Father De Luca has a feeling that it will be sooner rather than later." He gestured at the multitude of arrows on the maps. "Based on the frequency of disappearances around the world as well as the increase in cults performing the ritual, I'm inclined to agree. I'd prefer to stay out here myself because this is certainly the greater threat, but if there is a shoggoth running around under London, then that is by far the more immediate threat. I'll need to liaise with the Prime Minister before taking a squad down there while you stay here and oversee this operation. Besides, I'm sure Admiral Coleridge will be slightly more comfortable taking direction from a fellow Yank."

"Probably so," Stevens allowed. "You'll want our modified flamethrowers and MG 3s to take out a shoggoth, I'd imagine. I doubt anything less will even slow it down."

"I agree. I'll talk to the admiral and arrange for a flight to London. An F-14 will be a lot faster than Delta."

Admiral Coleridge was not enthusiastic about the idea of sending one of his fighters off on transport duty and was not reticent in saying so. "And I don't know who the hell you people think you are," he finished ranting. "All I know is that the President authorized your little adventure out here, whatever it is, and that my little fleet is costing United States taxpayers over five million dollars every day. And so far you people haven't given me an ounce of reassurance that it's money well spent!"

Braddock sighed. "Admiral, I apologize for any slight we may have inadvertently given you. It was not our intention to create any hard feelings, I assure you. We are accustomed to operating under a heavy veil of secrecy, not unlike your SEAL teams, actually. Given our location, though, and what you are likely to see in the next few days or weeks, perhaps it is best to offer a certain amount of disclosure. Once I explain a few things, I'm sure you'll understand why we operate like we do."

The admiral nodded. "I'd appreciate it," he said. He could certainly understand operational security – the U.S. Armed Forces lived and breathed it. He had a reputation, though, as a tough but fair commander, one who always took care of his sailors. He considered it to be part of his duties, in that regard, to know as much of the reasoning behind his orders as he could, to know that he was not sending his crews off on a fool's errand.

"Please make sure that none of this information leaves your office, sir. Very few people in the world know who we are or what we do. Our order is called the Sentinels of the Holy Cross. Our head answers directly to the Pope, and to him alone. Our purpose is to hunt down the agents of the darker powers in this world and destroy them – powers against which regular people have little or no defence."

The admiral leaned back in his chair, giving Braddock an appraising look. "I see," he said. "So, based on your apparent chain of command, it would appear that when you need something to happen you have the capability of getting no less a personage than the Holy Father himself to make a phone call and make appropriate arrangements. I can see how that would grease the wheels," he observed dryly.

Braddock couldn't help the ghost of a smile that popped up on his face. "Usually it doesn't take that much," he said, "although I will acknowledge a certain papal phone call to your President in this instance. For something of this scale, he likes to be involved himself."

"Okay, so we know you have one of the most powerful men in the world as your patron, which explains how you were able to pull these strings. I assume, though, that you wouldn't use his influence on a lark. This isn't just a pleasure cruise in the South Pacific, is it?"

"No, it's not. The weather aside, we're anticipating a rather important event to literally pop up here any day now. I don't know how much you're familiar with maritime history in this part of the world, but if you are, you may recall a report from back in the mid-twenties about a derelict steamship found adrift and towed back to Sydney, Australia, with one sole survivor and one dead man. According to his story, the schooner he'd originally set sail on was blown far off course by a storm, and they found themselves in these very waters. Their ship was accosted by pirates, and though the schooner was sunk the crew was able to defeat the pirates and take the steamship as their own, though they lost three of their number in the fight, including the captain and first mate. It was in these same waters that they came across a small island, where six more of their number died."

"Wait a minute. There's no land out here for over fifteen hundred miles in any direction. Satellite imagery has confirmed this."

"Exactly. And that, Admiral, is the crux of why we are here."

"So that tale wasn't just the ravings of a lunatic?"

"No, though what he went through could just as easily have resulted in him losing his mind. He wouldn't say what happened to the dead man, though it was clear that he had not been murdered. There was, in fact, a lot more that he refused to say, but we were able to secure the manuscript he left behind along with other relevant documents."

"So is there or isn't there an island out here?"

"Most of the time, no. However, from time to time the island has been known to rise. As best as we can tell, there are significant patterns of ritual occult activity worldwide before such an event. The rituals are all much the same, yet it is always in remote, isolated communities that are mostly cut off from the rest of the world. And there has been a substantial increase in such activities over the past few months."

The admiral shook his head. "Y'know, I'm starting to feel like I'm in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Everything I know tells me this is bullshit, but the fact that we're here on order from the President, and requested by the Pope as well, lends a bit of credibility to your story, as fanciful as it might seem."

"I assure you, this is no fairy tale."

"Fairy tale, right. You know the difference between a fairy tale and a sea story?"

"What's that?"

"A fairy tale starts off, _Once upon a time._ A sea story starts off, _No shit!_ "

Braddock chuckled along with Coleridge. "Now this, as you say, is no shit, and the reason we're here. A mysterious island appearing from time to time is not that big of a deal, really. It happens in a couple of other places around the world too, none of which are anything to worry about. This particular one, though, holds a city that was thousands of millennia old when mankind was first created, and is the resting place of a tremendous creature from your worst nightmares. That creature was responsible for the deaths of the six men that never left the island, plus that one poor bastard that died on the steamship. Just the sight of that thing was enough to break the man's mind, and as he apparently had a bit of a weak constitution, we could say that most likely he was literally scared to death. According to the survivor's account, the only way he was able to escape was by running the steamship's engines at full speed, swinging around, and ramming the creature head on. The thing exploded into pieces at the force of the impact and the steamship sailed on, but the survivor said that even as the island faded in the distance behind them, he could see the creature reforming. The ship that found them adrift later came through the area and found nothing but open water again."

"Mysterious vanishing island and an un-killable monster. Don't mind saying this is a hell of a sea story."

"That it is. Now, we figure the _Louisville_ will give us the earliest warning when the island starts to rise. Your mission will be twofold: one, prevent anyone from setting foot on that island by any means necessary. Have the _Louisville_ patrol a circuit around the island. Set up a blockade with your cruisers and destroyers. Send your F-18s on patrol around the area. You'll have to remain on high alert so long as the island is above the water. If so much as a rowboat gets past, the creature can be released, and that would not be good for anyone in the world. Don't let anyone in for any reason. If they're part of the cults, though, be advised that they won't be reasoned with. You will likely have to blow them out of the water. Believe me, it'll be for the best."

"And the second part?"

"If the creature does get released, then hit it with everything you've got. And pound that bloody island into dust if you can. Anything we can do to prevent this thing from walking the earth ever again. Hell, detonate a nuke underwater if you have to. By all we've been able to put together, this creature isn't the only thing resting in that city, most of which will still be underwater, though it is by far the worst."

Admiral Coleridge nodded. "I appreciate you levelling with me," he said. "I still don't like this, but I can understand what we're doing here. We won't let you down."

"Thank you. I don't like it either – frankly, there's nothing to like about it."

"That still doesn't explain why you need a flight to London though."

"There's another creature holed up in an abandoned part of the London Underground. It's not the same kind, but it's bad enough in its own right, especially in a major metropolitan area like London. I seriously doubt these are isolated events in any case. Trouble is brewing, Admiral, and we're not sure why it's happening. The signs are everywhere if you know where to look, and I don't mind saying that I'm concerned for the future of our world."

Coleridge stood up and looked out the porthole. A steady rain beat down from leaden skies outside and the seas were slightly choppy. It wasn't bad enough to cancel flight operations, but he had his people keeping an eye on the weather. They weren't terribly far north of the only band of latitude on the planet that was open water all around the globe, only about six hundred miles if that. Hurricane-force winds of two hundred miles per hour or greater were not uncommon through that natural wind tunnel. "Alright," he said. "I'll get one of the Tomcats ready. London is almost ten thousand miles away, which could be done in six and a half hours at high altitude, top speed. You'll need five refuelling stops, though, so add another two and a half hours for that. I'll get on the horn with my people and get tankers scrambled for you."

"Thank you, Admiral. The sooner I can get to London and get that mess cleaned up, the sooner I can get back here. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep your pilot on standby. It'll probably be another day or two before we can get our team assembled and outfitted to take care of that problem, then another day for debriefing the relevant people."

"I'll assign him to you for a week. Finished or not, he'll have to come back. If you're not finished yourself, we'll have to arrange alternate transportation."

"Fair enough. I'll be ready to go as soon as the plane's ready."

***DIM***

After an uneventful flight in the rear cockpit of the assigned F-14A Tomcat, albeit a much faster flight and with a better view than any he'd yet been on, Miles Braddock landed at RAF Northolt in northwest London and was immediately met by a black Jaguar XJ40 from the U.K. government motor pool. It was an hour's ride to 10 Downing Street, where he had a meeting scheduled with John Major, the Prime Minister. He spent the drive productively, immediately making a phone call to his superior, Father Giovanni De Luca. After giving him an update on the situation, he hung up and made another call to the Operations branch of the Sentinels. By the time the sedan passed Buckingham Palace, Braddock had made arrangements for a ten-man strike team to draw their gear and stand by.

Based on the nature of the threat, six of the men would carry the MG 3, a belt-fed machine gun manufactured in Germany by the Rheinmetall arms factory and exported for standard issue to the Italian Army. They would each carry five ammunition drums, each containing one hundred 7.62x51mm NATO rounds. The other four would carry the Lanciafiamme Model 41 flamethrower, an old weapon system that the Italians had used during World War II. Given the limited effectiveness of man-portable flame throwers – the Model 41 could hold a sustained burst of fire for only about five or six seconds before the tanks were emptied – there was little use for such weapons in modern armies. As the Sentinels had a different scope of operations, though, they had found times that such weapons were ideal. As an added bonus, the Research department had unlocked the ancient secret of Greek fire back in the late 1960s. The flamethrowers had been modified accordingly, making them all the more effective. Each of the flamethrower operators also carried a Colt Commando, part of the CAR-15 Military Weapons System that the Colt firearms manufacturer had initially implemented for the U.S. Armed Forces back in the 1960s. With a shorter barrel than the M16, the core rifle of the CAR-15 system, as well as a telescoping stock, the Commando boasted the compactness of a submachinegun with the full stopping power of the 5.56x45mm NATO rifle round. A sixth Commando would be brought along for Braddock himself, along with a standard utility harness, tactical kit, extra ammunition, and communications gear.

If his meeting with the Prime Minister went as planned, the team would board a Bell 205 utility helicopter, similar in design to the famous UH-1 Iroquois that had been a staple of the United States Army for over thirty years. The 205, on loan from the Italian Army, would pick the team up at the Vatican City Heliport, a rather grand name for what amounted to little more than a single helipad at the western end of the Vatican Gardens, tucked away in the western bastion of the Leonine Wall. From there the helicopter would take the team to Rome Ciampino Airport five miles away, where they would board an Aeritalia G-222 transport to Northolt.

The car came to a stop on Whitehall and waited for the black steel gates that barred vehicular access to Downing Street to open. Once granted access, the government Jaguar turned onto the street and made its way to the shaded carpark nestled between the Cabinet offices and the Prime Minister's residence and office. Braddock was immediately escorted inside and straight back to Major's office.

"Good afternoon, sir," Braddock said as he shook the Prime Minister's hand.

"Good afternoon – Braddock, was it?"

"Yes sir."

"I must admit to an inordinate amount of curiosity as to this meeting," Major said. "It's not every day that the Pope himself calls with a code-word message, let alone one that I never thought I'd hear used."

"Given the situation, sir, might I suggest that that is a good thing?"

"Quite. Well, let's have it."

Braddock proceeded to share the report of the missing electrical crew, of which Major was already well aware, and the official police report regarding Sean Kelly's unbelievable story. Upon explaining the Sentinels' supposition that the report was in fact legitimate and even had a likely name for the creature, he braced himself for the inevitable explosion. He was surprised when it never came.

"That sounds like something spilled over from the magical community here in Britain," the Prime Minister mused.

Braddock was quite taken aback. "You know of the gifted, then?" He, like all the Sentinels, was aware of the so-called Statute of Secrecy that the magical communities worldwide abided by, but they had never succeeded in uncovering much more than that.

"Of course," Major said. "And I assume that by _gifted_ you are referring to witches and wizards." At Braddock's nod of confirmation, the Prime Minister continued. "The Crown has acknowledged their right to limited self-government for centuries now, though technically they are still under the auspices of this office. They do not embroil themselves in our affairs or allow their problems to interfere with our world, and they in turn are allowed to look after themselves. The Minister for Magic is still required to brief me each month on what is happening with Her Majesty's magical subjects, though I fear the current minister is of the opinion that his world should not have to answer to ours."

"Interesting," Braddock said, "and if you're willing my order would be most agreeable in learning more about the magical world in the future. But no, most likely they are not involved with releasing a shoggoth in the Underground, at least not directly. My god, if they had the knowledge and were of the temperament to summon the likes of them, I doubt very much that they'd summon just the one. And if that was the case, the entire world would have been annihilated by now. Regardless, it's imperative that we take care of this creature as soon as we can, and if possible prevent even the knowledge of it from getting out beyond what it already has."

"You said _not directly_ , implying that they may be connected indirectly. Care to elaborate?"

Braddock paused, collecting his thoughts. "There is a certain book," he said at length, "one that I won't mention by name. Suffice to say, it is full of the darkest magic known to mankind. There are other books much like it, though this particular one is by far the foulest and most comprehensive of them all. The lore contained within its pages is enough to completely shatter the minds of all but the most strong-willed, and even they will eventually succumb to madness and death. Though I myself am solid in my knowledge and my faith, I wouldn't dare to read from it. It is, in a word, evil. Now, while we do not know much of the magical world, this is one instance where their Statute of Secrecy has certainly worked in our favour. From the little we have learned, they have a collective disdain for anything from the nonmagical world. And while this tome and others like it contain knowledge that is most assuredly of the arcane, it is also of our world, not theirs. The man who wrote the original manuscript a thousand years ago was as nonmagical as you or I, and the knowledge that he gained, while granting him unprecedented power, quite literally drove him insane. It is said that he died by being devoured alive in broad daylight, but no one was able to see what killed him.

"As best as our researchers can determine, the naturally gifted magical humans have the capability of learning to shield their minds somehow. We believe that if such a magical human were to possess this book, then that shielding of their mind would be sufficient to repulse most of the detrimental effects of it. The thought of someone being able to utilize the knowledge held in those pages without losing their minds frankly scares the hell out of me, sir. Our best projections have always predicted a significant increase in mysterious disappearances, occult ritual activity, and other dark energy events around the world."

"What is this dark energy?"

"It's difficult to say," Braddock replied. "Astrophysicists theorize that it's an as-yet-unknown form of energy responsible for the acceleration of the expansion of the universe. There has been no tangible evidence of it discovered yet, but it would explain certain observations they have made. I can't say whether the energy we've detected at various ritual sites is the same or not, but I can say that it is not natural to this world, nor is it benign."

"If it is the same energy that the astrophysicists project, then it would seem that there are some rather disturbing and uncomfortable facts about our universe."

"Indeed. And that is why we keep the details of our knowledge to ourselves. We believe that the general populace is better off unaware of the things we fight, for their own sanity. Anyway, those projections I mentioned a moment ago are occurring right now. This past autumn, a copy of the book I told you about was stolen from a certain location, with no evidence left behind to indicate who took it. There has indeed been a spike in those types of phenomena over the past few months, leading us to believe that the culprit is one of the gifted. We know that the magics documented in that book utilize dark energy, and continued usage of dark energy will spawn random appearances of it in nearby places – cosmically speaking, that is, which means most anywhere on Earth. It is our belief that the shoggoth is connected to one of those random appearances of dark energy."

After a few more minutes of discussion the meeting ended, and he left Downing Street with full authorization to conduct an extermination mission under the streets of London. As the Jaguar returned to RAF Northolt, Braddock called Operations and gave the go-ahead. The G-222 with his strike team landed several hours later, and he met them at the airstrip along with three Range Rovers. After securing their gear in the vehicles, they went to the guest quarters for the night. Knowing the lethality of the mission they were to embark upon the following day, the men gathered for prayer, worship, and confession if needed.

Braddock knew each and every man on the team, and had worked with them all on multiple cases. Each man had extensive law enforcement or military training, the latter primarily in combat arms, and each had encountered what some would call paranormal activity. While they represented several different countries and cultures around the world, each man was also a devout Christian. While the Sentinels of the Holy Cross were sponsored by the Roman Catholic Church, or more specifically the Pope himself, they were not required to be Catholic themselves. It was proven throughout the ages, though, that faith was an integral cornerstone in their fight against the darkness, and as their order was named after the centre point of their entire faith they welcomed all Christians: Catholic, Protestant, and Eastern Orthodox alike. It spoke volumes to the inclusive nature of the Sentinels that Braddock, a lifelong Anglican, and his best friend Bill Stevens, a nondenominational evangelical from the United States, were two of the top-ranking members of the Order, both of them answering directly to the head, Father De Luca.

Three of his team were Italians, and the only Roman Catholics in the group. Cosmo Abbatelli and Lino Guerra were both from Rome, while Melchiorre "Mel" Ardiccioni was from Venice. All three had been in the Italian Army together and had joined French and American soldiers in the Multinational Force in Lebanon during the early 80s. The three had been on a patrol near the coast late one night when they happened across a party of strange, humanoid figures with fish-like heads, tough, scaly skin, fins, and clawed hands attacking a local farmer's home. They intervened and saved the farmer and his family, killing several of the creatures. The other beings dragged their dead back into the sea with them, leaving behind no solid evidence that they had ever been there other than the testimony of a grateful family. Their chain of command, while dismissing neither their testimony nor that of the farmer, had no idea what to do with the information and so attempted to sweep it under the rug. Braddock had met with the three soldiers himself, explained about the deep ones, as they were called, and how they were led by an ancient, powerful member of their species known as Dagon – the same Dagon that figured so prominently into the mythology of Phoenicia, the ancient seafaring civilization from which Lebanon was formed. Upon learning that the world was much larger and mysterious than they had originally thought, the three soldiers each expressed a desire to help push back against the darkness. Braddock arranged for the paperwork to be expedited, and after receiving their discharge papers the three joined the Sentinels.

Mawunyo Bonsu was a large African man, originally from Ghana. He was the son of a local Methodist pastor and served in the Ghana Armed Forces during the turbulent 1960s and 70s. He had gone through a crisis of faith when his unit was tasked with investigating the disappearances of dozens of children in the Akim Swedru area. His unit found the children murdered and their blood drained by a deranged witch doctor in the jungles north of the city, who was attempting to achieve immortality through the blood of the innocent. Sickened by what they found, the soldiers killed the witch doctor on the spot and gave the murdered children a proper burial. Bonsu did not reenlist when his term in the GAF expired, vowing instead to fight the true evil that he witnessed that terrible day in the jungle. After the follow-up investigations and interviews, he was contacted by a representative from the Sentinels and recruited into their ranks.

The other two Protestants in the team's number were both Lutheran. Kalidas Misra was from Tharangambadi, India, and his story was similar to that of Mawunyo Bonsu. A member of the Indian Army, his unit was sent out to investigate reports of a resurgence of the infamous Thuggee cult. The reports were accurate, it turned out. Just as their ancestors of legend had purportedly done, this new cult was heavily involved in an extreme form of worship of the goddess Kali, which Misra thought was little more than an excuse to indulge in wanton depravity and murder. Whatever they called it, he knew it was evil. After his unit wiped out the cult, he too was recruited by the Sentinels.

The other Lutheran, Jean-Paul Moreau, bore an interesting stigma to his name, though many had forgotten about his family's history. Though his family originated from Le Mans, France, an offshoot had settled in Britain in the late 1700s. One of their number had become a physiologist in London in the mid-1800s, gaining a measure of renown before his disturbing experiments in vivisection were exposed. The man's notoriety had even crossed the Channel and plagued his distant relatives living in France before he had the decency to leave England and disappear forever. There had been whispers of rumours years later involving the disgraced doctor and strange, blasphemous experiments carried out on an uncharted island in the South Pacific, but nothing had ever been substantiated. The French Moreaus for the most part never cared to investigate the fate of their wayward cousin, instead focusing on repairing the damage he had done to their good name. Jean-Paul Moreau, perhaps spurred on by his family history and the unconfirmed tales connected with his relative's name, indulged in paranormal research as a hobby through much of his younger years, continuing into his time in the French Army. An encounter with a werewolf in the fourth year of his contract, in which he was able to defeat the creature without getting injured himself, led to him being contacted by the Sentinels.

The remaining four members of the team were all members of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Dmitri Volkov was born in Leningrad and joined the militsiya, or uniformed police, upon completion of school. A quiet member of the Russian Orthodox Church, he attended services when his official duties did not get in the way. As his behaviour was exemplary and his worship discrete, his superiors turned a blind eye to the practice of his faith, even as he moved up through the ranks. The scope of his career changed one day in the early 1980s when he was tasked with investigating a series of missing people from a small community on the Gulf of Finland called Staroye Garkolovo. The locals swore that it was a vodyanoy, a water spirit from Slavic mythology with a penchant for drowning people. His investigation revealed that the disappearances were indeed due to strange creatures he would later learn were the deep ones. Shortly after filing his report, which was not looked upon favourably by his superiors, he was contacted by the Sentinels through his priest and smuggled out of the country once he agreed to join them.

Toma Dumitrescu was from Brasov, Romania. As with Volkov, he was born into a communist government that heavily controlled if not outright persecuted the free exercise of religion. Even so, discrete practice was tolerated though not endorsed, and as such he was a member of the Romanian Orthodox Church. He joined the Romanian Land Forces as a volunteer before he could be conscripted and was assigned to a motor rifle division. A few years later while on a training exercise, his squad was attacked by a small coven of vampires. His men fought valiantly, but at the end of the attack he was the last man standing. As with so many other members, the Sentinels found his report and recruited him.

The last two men were both from the Greek Orthodox Church. Thamir Ahmad was an Arab Christian from Israel and a member of the Jerusalem Patriarchate of the church. He was one of the rare Arab Christians who joined the Israel Defence Forces and served his country with distinction through several of the military operations during the 1970s and 80s. He too had an encounter with a raiding party of deep ones and was subsequently recruited by the Sentinels.

The other man from the Greek Orthodox Church was Aimilios "Xan" Xanthopoulos. Born in Corinth, Greece, he joined the Hellenic Army once he finished school, shortly after the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. Serving in an armoured brigade, his military career was mostly peaceful until the early 1980s when a chimaera broke out of a reservation while his brigade was out on manoeuvres, incidentally killing a half-dozen wizards in the process – not that the nonmagical government had any idea about the magical loss of life. After one of the tanks was destroyed by the magical beast, the other tanks played a deadly game of tag with it as they tried to destroy it. Finally, after five more tanks were destroyed and another dozen disabled, the brigade was able to beat it down with heavy weapons fire and kill it. The magical obliviators had quite the time attempting to track down all the people who had seen the deadly creature, and Xan was one of the fortunate few who slipped through the cracks. Once he realized that the rest of his brigade did not remember fighting the beast, he wisely held his tongue, choosing instead to speak with his priest about the encounter. The priest, naturally concerned by the thought of mythological creatures suddenly appearing, made a few discrete inquiries which resulted in a contact from the Sentinels meeting with him.

Most of the Sentinels, especially those in combat roles, had very similar recruitment stories. Braddock himself had fended off a single vampire one night in London, while Bill Stevens had been attacked by an emaciated, cannibalistic creature known as a wendigo while on a hunting trip in north Michigan in the United States. Both had duly filed police reports, stoically endured the ridicule of the sceptical law enforcement personnel, and been contacted by the Sentinels shortly thereafter.

***DIM***

The next morning, the three Range Rovers along with a London Metro Police escort drove to the Underground access point from where the electrical crew had disappeared. Using strip maps that Research had prepared and faxed them the evening before, they had a planned route to the site of the first alleged attack reported by Sean Kelly.

The sight of eleven men dressed in black, carrying military-grade weapons, and descending into a central London Underground station was enough to cause most of the midmorning commuters to take a second look, but the presence of the police escorts alleviated any major concerns. The strike team quickly made their way into the access tunnels and descended to the deeper, unused section where the missing electrical crew was supposed to have been surveying. The police did not come with them past the public areas, as per their orders, and the team travelled into the dark, abandoned subway tunnels alone. They switched on their torches, each unit with fresh batteries newly installed the previous evening, and continued on their way. Volkov and Ahmad led the way, each carrying an MG 3, with Xan carrying a flamethrower just behind and between them. Braddock himself was in the middle of the formation with Ardiccioni, Moreau, and Misra behind him and the other seven in front. The rear formation mirrored the lead formation, with the Italian wielding a flamethrower while the other two flanked him with machine guns.

After more than an hour of carefully trekking through the tunnels, the air grew warmer and more humid. The old bricks that formed the walls of the subway tunnel were increasingly slick with moisture and slime, and the nauseating stench of a charnel house wafted through the air from the direction they were moving. Hands tightened on the grips of their weapons as each man knew their goal was near.

According to their map, an abandoned station, not the same one where Kelly's friend Murdoch had met his end, was just ahead. The team's apprehension grew as they approached the area, knowing that would be an ideal spot for an ambush. Their steps barely echoed as they crept along the deserted line, the lights from their torches the only thing giving away their position. The only sounds they heard other than their own muffled breathing and near-silent footsteps was a steady dripping in the distance.

A set of narrow steps leading up to the dilapidated platform appeared out of the shadows ahead, and Volkov moved toward them. He paused as Ahmad stepped out to clear the platform. After receiving the all clear, Volkov went up the steps and onto the platform. Xan climbed up behind him and the two moved toward the rear wall of the platform. Abbatelli and Dumitrescu also ascended the steps, the Italian carrying another MG 3 while his teammate carried one of the Model 41s, and the two proceeded down the forward edge of the platform. Bonsu and Guerra joined Ahmad on the rails and they crept forward, two machine guns and a flamethrower between them, the latter carried by the imposing African. Braddock also went up to the platform and stayed behind Abbatelli and Dumitrescu so he could stay more or less centralized. The last three men joined those up on the platform. Misra fell in behind Braddock and the other two went down the middle of the platform, covering their Russian and Greek teammates.

A dark tunnel led off from the platform, ostensibly leading up to the surface or at least a higher level of the station. Moreau and Ardiccioni moved to a position covering the opening, crouching behind crumbling pillars that supported the platform overhead, while Volkov and Xan moved closer to investigate. The two men noticed the fetid reek of decay grow stronger as they neared the tunnel and signalled the others to be on alert from that direction. Braddock and Misra stepped back, allowing the three men still on the rails to set up positions at the platform edge offering a clear shot down the tunnel.

A slithering, squelching sound accompanied by rattling tile and stone being ground together sounded from the tunnel before a great black monstrosity burst from the opening in a shower of slimy, broken fragments of masonry. Bulbous, inhuman eyes grew out of the foul, protoplasmic entity only to be swallowed up again moments later. A cacophony of daemonic voices shrieked and gibbered from an equal number of gaping mouths of all shapes and sizes that opened up and disappeared again, much like the grotesque eyes.

As soon as the creature appeared, the Sentinels opened fire. 7.62mm bullets ripped into the putrid flesh as burning fuel poured onto it from four different directions. The screams took on an agonized tone as the monstrous beast lashed out in rage. A swipe of a pseudopod smashed into the pillar behind which Moreau was hiding with the force of a freight train, smashing the post into rubble and sending the unfortunate Frenchman sailing off the platform and back down the tunnel from whence the Sentinels came. Ardiccioni ducked just in time to miss the backswing of the tentacle and a moment later blasted the creature again with his flamethrower. A few seconds later, the flame trailed off as his fuel tanks emptied. Shrugging off the heavy tanks, he chambered a round in his Commando and turned to lay down a burst of fire as he fell back to a safer position. The last thing he saw was a huge, shark-like mouth on the end of a large appendage barrelling straight at his him. Knowing it was already too late, he gritted his teeth and grimly squeezed the trigger of his rifle until he knew no more.

Braddock saw the two men go down but immediately locked his feelings away. There would be time enough to grieve the loss of his brothers later, assuming they all survived. He had to give his men credit – they each faced this hellspawn nightmare with a cool, professional demeanour. There had been no crying, no screaming, not even the cursing one would normally associate with combat specialists. He knew they were scared – he was too, and he'd never say otherwise – but as one they acted in the face of fear. And that was the very definition of courage. Whether they all lived or died today, he knew that each man had acquitted himself well, and he was proud of each one. As Misra laid down a steady barrage of fire beside him, he ejected the magazine of his weapon and grabbed a fresh one. Tapping the new magazine on the side of his helmet to settle the cartridges to the rear and prevent a misfeed, he slammed the new one into the receiver, chambered the first round, and started shooting again.

Volkov and Xanthopoulos were both in an excellent position and a poor position. As the beast exploded out of the tunnel and rushed past, it had apparently missed their presence, giving them an element of surprise. On the other hand, when it noticed them they had nowhere to go but straight back the way they came, and there was little room to manoeuvre. A flailing appendage knocked Xan's feet out from under him, shattering both legs in the process. Fighting through the pain, the injured man kept his head and aim steady as he blasted the shoggoth with pressurized Greek fire. Volkov, seeing the creature bearing down on his injured comrade, grabbed Xan by the neck of his harness and dragged him back with one hand and blasted the monster with the machine gun slung over his shoulder with the other. He'd never win any marksmanship awards shooting like that, but at this close range and with a target that size pinpoint accuracy was unnecessary.

Between Dumitrescu, Bonsu, and Ardiccioni, the forward end of the shoggoth – as best as Braddock could determine, not that there was any way to tell – had been critically damaged. When exposed to normal fire, the creature's tendency was to engulf the flames within its mass and immediately starve them of oxygen, thereby extinguishing them. As the flamethrowers were shooting the legendary unquenchable Greek fire, any flames that were swallowed up in its bulk continued to burn inside with furious intensity. Already Braddock could see its continually morphing appearance hardening. The wet, glistening blisters that normally bubbled to the creature's rancid surface were frozen in place like blackened, caramelized molasses. Some had even cracked open as the heat from the fires burning within roasted the protoplasmic aberration from the inside out. As the hellish beast writhed in agony as it was cooked alive, hundreds of bullets continued to slam into its bulk. Fire-hardened appendages were torn to shreds, incapable of being instantly absorbed back into the creature's still-living tissue, and the flames continued to burn until all the fuel was gone. At long last, the shoggoth gave one last long, shuddering sigh and moved no more. The last remnants of Greek fire still burned on several areas of the creature's burnt flesh, and some flickering blue flames could even be seen under the semi-translucent surface.

Braddock immediately took stock of his men. He found Volkov and Xanthopoulos backed into a corner, both severely injured. Volkov was still conscious, though he had a broken arm, shoulder, collarbone, and several shattered ribs. Xan was unconscious but alive, though Braddock could tell from the extent of his injuries that he'd definitely lose his legs. Volkov explained that as he'd dragged the Greek away after he'd been hit, another pseudopod had swung around and struck him, breaking his shooting arm. Xan had kept shooting his flamethrower until he'd run out of fuel, then blissfully passed out.

Besides Moreau and Ardiccioni, none of the other men were seriously injured, though Braddock, Misra, Abbatelli, and Dumitrescu all had a few scrapes and bruises from flying rubble. Ahmad, Bonsu, and Guerra were all unscathed as they had had ample cover from the platform itself.

Ardiccioni had been bitten in half by the ravening maw that grew on the end of the bloated appendage that attacked him. Braddock took it upon himself to dig through the broken corpse of the shoggoth with a combat knife until he found the remains of his friend, a task that he was sure would haunt him for years to come. They found Moreau lying in a crumpled heap down the tunnel they'd originally come down, his unseeing eyes staring blankly at the overhead. Braddock sighed in resignation at the knowledge that he'd lost another friend.

He directed the other men to set up a defensive perimeter while he took Ahmad and Misra up to the surface by way of the platform entrance. His men needed medical attention, and it was too long of a trek back through the subway tunnels to carry them. Bonsu had already started first aid on Xanthopoulos, while Dumitrescu worked on Volkov. Abbatelli and Guerra stood guard while they did so, and the other three climbed up the darkened stairwell to the upper levels.

A few barricades broken through later, the three were up on the street where Braddock could get a decent phone signal. He immediately called the Metro Police with his status and location, and they in turn contacted the appropriate medical emergency personnel. While they waited for the officials to arrive, Braddock called Father De Luca and gave him a situation report.

"We destroyed the shoggoth," he said, "but we lost Moreau and Ardiccioni. Xanthopoulos may walk again someday with prosthetics, but he'll lose his legs for sure. Volkov will probably recover, but he'll only have limited use of his arm for a time. I'm pulling him and Xan off combat duty. If he recovers well enough, I'll put Volkov back on later."

"That's terrible to hear," De Luca replied. "They are all good men."

"The best," Braddock said, a hitch in his voice. He knew that his men did not need to worry about anything; the Sentinal command would make sure they received the best medical attention possible. Likewise, every man that was killed in the line of duty would have his pension go in full to his beneficiaries, and said pensions were such that the recipients need not worry financially for the rest of their lives.

"In the meantime," Braddock continued, "I need a containment crew at my current location to retrieve the corpse of the shoggoth and dispose of it. Once the ambulances get here and collect the dead and injured, the rest of us will continue on to the reported point of entry."

"Good work, my son. We'll pray that the creature has not spawned yet."

Braddock shuddered. "I'd need the team at full strength, not to mention have our flamethrowers refuelled. And by the way, the Greek fire was just the thing to use on that abomination. Make sure that gets in the records. I doubt we'd have been as fortunate as we were had it not been for that."

"I'll make sure of it myself. Go with God, my son."

After the casualties were evacuated and a police guard set up to wait for the containment team, Braddock led the rest of his crew deeper through the abandoned tunnels to the station where Sean Kelly and Jack Murdoch had first encountered the deadly monster. Though apprehensive and on edge, they encountered nothing on the way to the deserted station. Once they reached their objective, they saw the broken masonry of the old brick tunnel lying scattered across the rails before them, illuminated by an eerie, pale green light emanating from the hole behind the tunnel wall. According to Kelly's report, the shoggoth had burst through the brick wall at this location and attacked them.

The strike team gathered around the opening, torches and weapons trained inside. The tunnel was rough and uneven, with broken rock and earth scattered across the fragmented ground. It sloped down at an odd angle before the edge dropped off about ten yards in, where the greenish light grew brighter. Braddock crept in and peered around the edge, gasping in surprise.

He appeared to be at the top of a large cavern that dropped about a hundred feet to a rubble-covered floor maybe three hundred feet across that sloped even deeper into the earth. The roof and walls of the cavern seemed to have collapsed sometime recently, which had also opened up a jagged ledge of sorts leading from the cavern floor up to the top that a particularly athletic individual would have a chance of navigating. What caught his attention, though, was a strange construction on the other side of the cavern. It was a building of some kind, made of huge stones larger than he was, built into the side of the cavern like a part of the wall. The glowing green slime or mould or whatever it was illuminated irregular angles and curves, as if it was designed to please some alien aesthetic beyond human ken. There was no telling how long the structure had stood within the empty chamber beneath the earth. His sharp eyes noticed several smooth-bored tunnels near the structure devoid of any debris, each maybe ten feet in diameter and disappearing somewhere in the uncharted depths.

He carefully retraced his steps and stepped out into the rail line. "I'm sure that's where the shoggoth came from," he whispered. "And I don't know where it is at the moment, but I'm certain that a chthonian has been down there as well."

"Those beasts are usually found under North Africa," Bonsu observed. "They are creatures of the earth. The best way to kill them is with water."

"Correct. Without getting a visual, the best way to confirm its presence will be to check the earthquake frequency. Those creatures have the capability of triggering small earthquakes, though it usually takes about a day or so afterward for them to recover. I'm positive I saw its tunnels – they're too smooth-bored to be from anything else other than a machine."

"How will we proceed?" Guerra wanted to know.

"We'll back off for the moment," Braddock said as he led the way up to the train platform. "I don't want to get too close to it. I'd prefer to not even see it, to be honest. It won't be as tough as the shoggoth was, thankfully, but even though it looks like a giant worm with a squid's tentacles, it's best not to underestimate its capabilities. Those creatures are frightfully intelligent and telepathic to boot. It can even overcome your willpower and discipline, dominating you completely and forcing you to be its slave. And all without touching you."

"And we don't know if there is only one or if more may be down there as well," Bonsu added.

"Exactly. I'll arrange another meeting with the PM, explain the situation, and hopefully he'll agree with my proposed solution."

***DIM***

"With all due respect, Braddock, are you out of your bloody mind?" Prime Minister John Major gazed sceptically across his desk as he removed his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief.

Braddock gave him a humourless smile. "With some of the things I've seen and done, sir, it's a wonder I'm not," he replied.

"That's hardly reassuring."

"My apologies. It is, however, my personal belief that the earthquakes that have been hitting central London every few days are the result of another creature, one known as a chthonian. I recognized the tunnels it digs through the earth, and the news that these earthquakes have been occurring regularly for the better part of three months only confirmed my suspicions. We successfully dealt with the shoggoth, though we lost two men to it and have another two seriously wounded. None of them are replaceable. I would prefer not sending search parties after it if I don't have to, because that will mean a trek down the tunnels. In confines like that, the chthonian will be able to find us telepathically and mentally subjugate most if not all of us before we ever got close enough to shoot it. While the shoggoth was a lot stronger and a lot harder to kill, getting rid of the chthonian will be much more difficult – unless we flood the tunnels."

"You're proposing that we block off a section of an abandoned subway tunnel, make the seals watertight, and drill a hole through the bottom of the Thames into said tunnel to do that, all while making sure the tunnel does not collapse or get clogged with mud from the river bottom! Do you have any idea what such an undertaking will require? Or the cost? My God, the political fallout alone will be a bloody nightmare!"

"I respect your position, sir, truly I do. I fear, though, that the cost of _not_ doing so will ultimately be much higher. I'm sure even these little earthquakes over time will cause structural damage. Sending men down to kill it is a moot point – it just won't happen. It'll read their minds and react accordingly. I doubt any of the tremors so far are a result of it being truly angry. Can you imagine if it did become mad? It could easily burrow up to right under the surface before triggering an earthquake event, and if it was angry I doubt it would hold anything back."

"London would be gutted," Major whispered.

"Precisely." Braddock opened his briefcase and removed a map of central London, the location of the subway line in question traced with a red marker. "We believe that these points here and here will be the best locations to seal the tunnel, and I'd suggest having your city engineers come up with the best way to do that. They'll know better than I what materials will be needed to build a watertight seal in the tunnel that'll withstand the force of the water going in. After the work crews do that, the tunnel will be completely sealed off except for the station here, which is where we'll have the necessary ventilation. We can easily barricade it to prevent anyone from going down there. Using prefab components, we can install a large-diameter concrete pipe down through the riverbed to the tunnel with a floodgate over the top. I'm sure the chthonian will trigger more tremors, and once it does so we can open the gate and flood the cavern before it has the opportunity to recover its energy. Once the cavern is completely flooded we can then use the station as the point of entry to send a crew to seal the cavern off."

Major leaned back and rubbed his temples, trying to stave off his impending headache. "And that'll be the end of it?"

"I sincerely hope so, at least as far as Britain is concerned. There is another situation brewing in the South Pacific, one that has the potential to be even more devastating than the ones here, and for that reason I would like to suggest that the sooner the situation here is cleared up the better it will be for the world at large."

The Prime Minister gave him a level stare. "Very well," he said at length. "I'll make this happen for you, but I will certainly be briefing Her Majesty and others on the situation. We can label this an issue of national security, of that there is no doubt. I just pray to God that you find no more monsters here."

"As do I, your excellency. As do I."

***DIM***

It took several days of nonstop work to get everything set up according to Braddock's plan. Civil engineers were consulted to determine the best way of executing the proposal without causing any damage to the streets, buildings, subways, and ultimately people of central London. A cover story of a potentially fatal biohazard that could be neutralized in water was concocted as the reason for the undertaking. It wasn't even a false story – it was simply the implied nature of the hazard that was misleading.

Just as Braddock had predicted, small tremors continued to shake central London every other day or so. According to local seismologists, there was no significant change in the frequency or intensity of the tremors. Braddock hoped that this plan, audacious as it was, would run smoothly, allowing him to return to Point Nemo.

***DIM***

As the USS _Louisville_ followed its plotted course deep in the waters of the South Pacific, the on-duty sonar technician suddenly sat up straight. "Sir, I'm picking up something weird, almost like a groaning sound. Doesn't really sound natural."

The duty officer joined the technician in the compartment. "Don't reckon it's an experimental sub drive, do you? You know, like that Russian sub that defected to us back in the 80s."

"I don't think so, sir. We've been going around this point for weeks now without a trace of anyone but us. I haven't even picked up any sea life out here."

At that moment a rumbling sound poured out of the technician's headphones. "Shit!" Wincing in pain, he ripped the headset off. "Okay, that's definitely an earthquake of some kind. There's something else too…"

On the surface, a rattled Admiral Coleridge burst into Bill Stevens' stateroom. "The _Louisville_ just reported a major seismic event, Stevens. Every sonar tech in the group is confirming the same thing. Can I assume that your mysterious island is rising to the surface?"

Stevens nodded, his lips pressed tight. "I think that'd be a pretty safe assumption, Admiral. We don't know how long the island will remain on the surface, but we're gonna have to make sure the net is super-tight. We cannot afford for even one person to step foot on shore."

"Best get in touch with Braddock and see when he's coming back. His week's just about up. I can extend the Tomcat's leave for another couple of days if he's almost finished."

"I'll check in with him immediately."

"Thanks. Now that things are picking up, I'd feel much better with as many people here as possible who know what the hell is going on."

***DIM***

As soon as the preparations were finished, Braddock took possession of the remote control for the floodgate and waited with Misra and Abbatelli in the abandoned station. They sat on cheap camp stools and used a pair of Coleman gas lanterns, not intending to be there for very long, and each had brought a paperback to pass the time while they awaited the next tremor. Conversation was kept to a minimum as the minutes stretched into hours.

Braddock tried to read his book, a novel by an American writer who specialized in courtroom drama, but had a difficult time concentrating. According to his friend Bill Stevens, the island called R'lyeh was rising again. If the history they had dug up repeated itself, then they could be assured that even now deranged cultists were on their way to the unimaginably old alien city. Their research indicated several different cults dedicated to various ancient beings, often referred to as simply the "Old Ones," powerful entities that existed for millennia before the first human settlement was ever formed. The cults centred around the worship of such creatures as Father Dagon and Mother Hydra, two ascended deep ones who ruled their brethren with an iron fist; the patron of death and rot known as Mordiggian; the enigmatic, corrupting Hastur; and others, most of whom represented different aspects of entropy. Perhaps the most dominant and widespread cult of them all was the one dedicated to Cthulhu, the terrible creature lying in the drowned vaults of R'lyeh and the greatest of all the Old Ones. There were whispers that even as the deep ones revered and served Dagon and Hydra, so too did they in turn revere and serve Cthulhu. It was said that there was one even higher than the Old Ones, or perhaps the Old Ones were but different faces of the same cosmic being, the messenger of the so-called "Outer Gods" known as Nyarlathotep, a creature as far beyond Cthulhu as Cthulhu was beyond humanity. Braddock did not personally ascribe the status of true Deity to any of the "Outer Gods," simply because they were trapped within the confines of the universe in which he himself also dwelt. According to his beliefs, the universe required a creator to exist apart from and outside it, and that creator, in his opinion, was the only being worthy to take the mantle of godhood. The "Outer Gods," according to the Sentinels' research, could more accurately be described as the embodiments of three cosmic principles. Azathoth was the incarnation of entropy, while Shub-Niggurath was the polar opposite, representing fertility. Yog-Sothoth was time itself, giving Azathoth and Shub-Niggurath the temporal framework to perform their eternal cycle of life and death.

After a little over three hours, the derelict station shook as the expected tremor occurred. Books were closed and secured in cargo pockets as Misra and Abbatelli moved to the platform exit. Braddock moved to the edge of the platform instead. When the shaking subsided, he pushed the button on the remote control.

A damp breeze started blowing around him as the air was flushed from the tunnel. Seconds later, a rushing sound began to grow closer, and he knew the first part of the plan had succeeded. He turned and ran to the platform exit. "Let's go!" he called to his men. "I don't fancy a swim right now." As they neared the first flight of stairs leading up, he turned for one last look at the platform. The dim lanternlight illuminated a rushing river flowing past and disappearing through the hole leading to the vast subterranean chamber. Praying that this was the end of the dark energy events in Britain for the immediate future, he followed his men to the surface.

Leaving Mawunyo Bonsu in charge to oversee the sealing of the cavern once the flooding was complete, Braddock returned to RAF Northolt where the F-14 was standing by. After collecting his pilot, the two boarded the plane and took off for the long flight back to Cruiser-Destroyer Group 5 in the South Pacific.


	12. Inferno

**AN:** Just to clear up any confusion, the Sentinels are not connected to the wizarding world in any way, shape, or form. They are aware that it exists in the general sense, but that's about it, and at this point they have not had any true magicals join their ranks, nor are they aware of Hogwarts as an institution, let alone any of the events in its halls over the past three or four years. In retrospect, I realize that there may be some slight inconsistencies with this approach - if the world's leaders are aware of the existence of the magical world, then surely the Pope must be aware, and has passed that info along to the one unit that would probably need that info more than any others. At this point, though, I don't believe that it's critical to the rest of the story, and I beg your indulgence with that potential plot hole. For all I know, Britain may be the only magical nation that has a direct association with their Prime Minister. (I haven't seen the new movie so I don't know how it's set up in the U.S. according to canon.) The relationship between the Sentinels and the magical world may be something to explore and develop in a future work, though.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the next chapter.

***DIM***

After Luna's bonding with Kaisa, the teens threw themselves into exercising their newly-developed skills. Sirius assisted them by expanding one of the basement rooms into a huge space adequate for all three to train. The trio worked hard every day, following their internal promptings for exercise regimens geared for each specific discipline. They began each morning with a quarter-hour of stretching, preparing their bodies for the rigorous workout they would soon begin.

Each week started with running around an oval track around the edge of the room Sirius prepared, working on both distance and sprints, eventually working up to two miles in less than fourteen minutes. While their rate was far from the most impressive they'd heard of, it was far better than the average witch or wizard could maintain – the wizarding world, they had all observed, was notoriously lazy. They would repeat their running exercises every other day for a total of three days each week.

On the alternate days, instead of running they would engage in a series of calisthenics and weight training, strengthening and toning their upper and lower bodies. After visiting a nonmagical gymnasium, Sirius enthusiastically purchased several Bowflex machines and free weight benches for the teens. He even started joining them for their morning exercises. They put in three days a week for these exercises as well, leaving Sundays as rest days.

After their morning exercises, cool down, and breakfast, they would clean up and meditate until lunch, giving their bodies time to recover from the strenuous workouts. Their meditations helped repair their torn muscles all the quicker, so that by the time they finished eating the noon meal they were ready for the afternoon's combat training. Although they each chose select weapons from the Glastonbury cache for their primary use, which they focused on during their combat exercises, they also familiarized themselves with a broad range of weaponry. They would spend all afternoon practicing with sword and shield, bow and arrow, quarterstaff, mace, and spear. After bathing and dinner, they would spend another hour in meditation, then relax with each other for the rest of the evening.

Luna's unicorn often appeared in their exercise room with them, allowing the diminutive blonde to train with her as well. At the young Ravenclaw's request, Sirius also bought an impressive surround sound system, which Hermione spent the better part of an evening protecting and powering with the same runes she used for Luna's Discman. From then on, their exercise and training regimens were accompanied by the pounding rhythms of Luna's hard rock CDs. She also began experimenting with different makeup charms based on designs worn by some of the musical artists in her collection, claiming that the blibbering humdingers told her it would be effective war paint, enough to even scare away wrackspurts. Her favourite turned out to be a design inspired by Alice Cooper, with black eyeshadow caked around her eyes and two rough black lines drawn vertically, one seemingly through each eye, and two more black lines drawn almost straight down from the corners of her mouth. A bemused Harry and Hermione asked her about the extravagant makeup, and she only replied that she felt that the KISS makeup was a bit over the top. The unicorn Kaisa was not safe from her makeup charms either, nor did she seem to mind.

Remus surprised them all one day by bringing in several crates of firearms and ammunition.

"Where the hell did you get all that, Moony?" Sirius asked.

The werewolf grimaced. "You know that the Ministry doesn't think too highly of my kind," he said. "Employment opportunities are practically non-existent in the magical world, and my furry little problem makes steady employment in the nonmagical world difficult at best. Most companies are not interested in hiring someone that has to take off three consecutive days around the full moon each month without explanation. I could say it's a medical issue, but I'd have to prove it and doing so would violate the Statute of Secrecy. The result of that is that I've had to rely on, shall we say, _less-than-savoury_ employment to survive. I can't say that I'm proud of it, but the result is that I have access to equipment and gear that the average British citizen does not."

Harry gave him a funny look. "So… you're saying that you were a gun runner?"

Remus flinched. "You could say that." He looked on in apprehension as Harry's thoughtful expression suddenly broke into a grin.

"That's bloody awesome, Uncle Moony!"

Hermione, though, was less enthusiastic. "I don't know that I like the idea of using guns," she said.

Lupin gave her an understanding look. "I hate the idea of you three doing any of this," he replied. "That said, it's obvious you kids are going to be on the front lines of something big. Your magic is well beyond anything your peers at school could hope to do, but you're going up against seasoned Death Eaters at the very least. These are men and women whose magical cores have reached their full maturity, they have more years of practical experience than the three of you have been alive, and they have no qualms about murdering defenceless people. You will need every advantage you can get, and I promise you that a .45 calibre bullet makes for a fantastic equalizer. I will even go so far as to say that if you do not use every single advantage you have access to, you don't deserve to win. Remember, the only unfair advantage is the one the other guy has."

Though Remus spoke with a gentle voice, Hermione wilted at his words. "I've known that standing by Harry means that most likely I will have to kill someone eventually," she said, her eyes growing moist. Her two best friends moved close to offer her support as she went on. "I've known that in my head, and I've tried to prepare myself mentally for it. Seeing those guns, though, makes it real in a way it wasn't before. We're going to war against who knows what, and there's no guarantee we're going to survive."

"And that's why I brought this stuff," Remus said, giving her a hug. "Believe me, you aren't going alone, and I'll certainly be carrying some of this gear with me."

"As will I," Sirius put in. "Besides, I've always wanted to play with mug- _nonmagical_ guns! They always looked like fun in the cinema."

From then on, they added firearms training to their regimen, both pistol and rifle. They all wound up shooting quite well, though Harry and Hermione excelled at the Browning L9 service pistols while Luna was a deadly shot with the standard issue L85 rifle.

In addition to learning to use all their weapons, they each conducted maintenance and cleaning of their own selected gear. Armour was oiled, swords were sharpened and oiled, firearms were cleaned and lubricated.

And all the while, Luna waited impatiently for the next vision to guide their steps.

***DIM***

The hairless, reptilian-looking body lay in repose in the master bedchamber of Malfoy Manor with Potions Master Severus Snape in attendance. Widow Malfoy, the former Narcissa Black, sister of Andromeda Tonks and the notorious (and late, thankfully) Bellatrix Lestrange, waited by the door in case Snape required further potions, ingredients, or anything else. Not for the first time, she mentally cursed her dead husband for ever getting involved with this madness, the dark lord for pushing his agenda of genocide in the first place, and Snape and the other remaining Death Eaters for invading her home and effectively kicking her out of her own bedroom. Granted, it wouldn't do for the dark lord to have any room besides the master bedchamber, but it galled her nonetheless to be evicted from her personal chambers without so much as a by-your-leave. Especially since it had been close to two months already since the Hogwarts Potions Master appeared with the living but otherwise unresponsive dark lord.

She was more and more considering emptying her vault, withdrawing her son from Hogwarts, and fleeing the country before it was too late, leaving the manor behind for her ex-husband's sick and twisted friends.

Her furious musings were interrupted by the monster on her bed suddenly coughing and lunging to his feet, bowling Snape over in the process. His hate-filled red eyes darted around the room, nostril slits twitching as his gaze lit on the sprawling potions master. In spite of herself, she immediately dropped to her knees as Snape scrambled to his.

"Milord," she heard the greasy sycophant intone.

"Ah, Severus," the dark lord said in a surprisingly high-pitched hiss. "Where am I?"

"We're in your servant Malfoy's home," Snape replied. "I brought you here after you were… attacked."

"Indeed." He stretched out his pale, pasty-skinned hands and regarded his new form. "It is good to be back in the world of the living." His laugh was terrifying. "As I told my servants before, I have beaten Death itself!"

"You are truly the greatest wizard of our age."

"Yes, I am. Now, tell me about this attack. I assume it was this mysterious assassin?"

Snape took a deep breath. "Yes, I believe so."

"And I suppose that you dealt with him?"

"I cast a silent blasting curse at him as soon as I saw him standing over you. Even so, he disappeared somehow. It wasn't apparation or a portkey – it was like he just melted into the shadows. Your wellbeing was my top priority, so I brought you here rather than try to find him."

Voldemort scowled. "I am not entirely pleased, yet I cannot fault your reasoning. Did you see Nagini, my familiar?"

"There was a dead snake lying near you, milord. If that was your familiar, it was already dead when I arrived."

The dark lord cursed, feeling a twinge of fear deep in his gut. "And Wormtail?"

"He never showed up. I learned later on that he was found murdered in the cemetery."

"Damnation." He paced at the foot of the bed. "It can't be helped, I suppose, but Nagini was irreplaceable. Have you learned anything of this assassin?"

"I have not, milord, but I do have some information that you may find of interest."

"Oh?" The reptilian creature stopped walking and turned his burning red eyes to his servant. "Speak."

"Milord, Harry Potter has disappeared, along with his two girlfriends. I am sure they are hiding under a fidelius charm, but they won't be as easy to get to as his parents were. However, I believe we could draw him out by attacking his mudblood girlfriend's home. The fool boy is besotted with her, so we could easily set a trap for him using her parents as bait."

The smile on Voldemort's face chilled Narcissa to the bone. "And as soon as I have Potter's head mounted on a pike the other won't matter," he mused. He turned to the bereaved mistress of the house. "Bring food and wine. Tonight, we plan. Tomorrow, we strike!"

***DIM***

"No!" Luna bolted upright in her bed, her body wracked in sobs.

Startled by her roommate's scream, Hermione too was awake in a flash. She leapt out of her bed and rushed to comfort her friend. As she held the trembling girl close, their bedroom door opened and Harry peered in.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he entered and wrapped his arms around the girls.

Luna clung to Hermione as if her life depended on it. "It's your parents," she wept. "They've been attacked! I'm so sorry, I didn't see it sooner!" The little blonde was nearly inconsolable as she buried her face in her friend's shoulder.

Hermione felt a dagger of ice stab her in the gut at Luna's words. She turned terrified eyes to her boyfriend. "Harry…" she whimpered.

"Gear up," he said, giving them both a tight squeeze. "If we're going to do any good, we've got to leave immediately." Jumping up, he ran out into the hall, pounding on his godfather's and honorary uncle's bedroom doors. "Padfoot! Moony!" he bellowed, loud enough to do a Royal Marine drill instructor proud. "Get up and get your gear together! We've got a mission and we leave in ten or less!"

Having a clear emergency plan helped the two girls get a grip on themselves. Just as they had practiced many times over the past month, they donned black jumpers, military cargo pants, and warm leather boots before running downstairs to the makeshift armoury Sirius had put together in one of the rooms on the ground floor.

Harry was already there, standing by with Hermione's black leather cuirass. As soon as she entered the room he was at her side, helping her put it on and tightening the straps for her. Next, he helped Luna with hers, and then the girls helped him with his as a bleary-eyed Sirius and Remus staggered in. They each had a set of the valuable armour keyed to them as well, and Harry assisted them in putting it on while the girls grabbed their individualized equipment harnesses, each already loaded up with spare pistol and rifle magazines, as well as scabbards and holsters for their personal weapons of choice.

Before grabbing her firearms, Hermione took what looked like a crystal baton a little over a foot long and slid it into a pouch that hung against her right thigh. Luna took a longsword from its rack and slid it into the scabbard hanging from her harness. The sword she took had a steel blade that took the appearance of the night sky on a moonless, cloudless night, even to the point that it appeared to have stars twinkling in its depths. She also took a classic Fairbairn-Sykes combat knife from its place on the rack and slid it up into a sheath fastened to the left shoulder strap of her harness, securing it in place with a leather strap around the handle. While Harry and the two Marauders finished putting on their armour and selecting their weapons, she quickly cast the makeup charm for her "war paint."

The sword Harry chose was one of the most eye-catching weapons in the entire cache. It was a bastard sword, large enough to be an effective two-handed weapon and yet light enough to be used one-handed. The blade, polished to a mirror shine and sharpened enough to split a hair, met an ivory hilt embossed with a golden angel. The wings of the angel spread wide, forming the weapon's crossguard. The sword went into a special clip on the back of his harness, allowing the hilt to rise up over his right shoulder. The clip was spelled to prevent anyone other than Harry from removing it.

Besides their firearms, the only weapons Sirius and Remus took were their own F-S fighting knives. All five secured their wands in official auror forearm holsters as they did a final weapons check. "We don't know the situation, so we're going in a tight three-sixty," Harry said. "Sirius will apparate me, Remus will apparate Hermione and Luna. Make sure you're ready to fire as soon as we land. This is most likely a trap, but there's no way we're not going. Be ready for it and the chances of it working will decrease."

He nodded, and the five took their positions in a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder, facing out. Sirius grabbed Harry's harness with one hand while he brandished his rifle with the other. Meanwhile, Remus took Hermione's harness in his free hand while Luna grabbed hold of his. "Let's go!" Harry said, and a moment later all five disappeared.

The tell-tale pops of them appearing might have been heard as only one to the untrained ear. They appeared on the street in front of the Grangers' house only to find Hermione's home engulfed in flames. As she screamed, Harry grabbed her arm before she could charge into the inferno. "We've got to check for traps, love," he said, wincing at her stricken expression. "Sirius, you and Luna watch our backs. Remus, check for wards, tripwires, and the like."

"Why isn't the fire brigade here?" she demanded, looking around. "The neighbours aren't even out."

"Notice-me-not charms," Lupin reported as he finished his scan. "No magical traps or wards that I can see here," he said. "Just the notice-me-nots."

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll take Hermione in and we'll put out the fire and hopefully find her parents. Help Sirius and Luna keep an eye out for Death Eaters."

"You kids be careful," he said.

He nodded as he turned and conjured a jet of water from the tip of his wand, blasting it through the open front door. Steam rose as the flames died, but there were always more to replace them. The walls and ceiling crawled with raging fire that almost seemed alive. Hearing the groans of the dying house, Hermione dropped her rifle to hang from its sling and pulled out the crystal baton. With a thought, it began to glow as it expanded in her hands to a full six feet. A moment later, at her command a translucent blue dome flickered into existence around the two of them.

"That should keep anything from falling on us," she said, her voice tense.

Harry gave her an appreciative nod as he continued to douse the flames.

They made it through the charred and smoking remains of what had been the living room and continued through the burning dining room. As they stepped into the kitchen, though, an orange fireball blasted through the sliding glass door from the outside, sending jagged shards of glass flying everywhere and ricocheting off Hermione's protective shield. It blasted a hole through the wall into the dining room, but the two teens were unharmed.

Sliding his wand into the holster, Harry brought his rifle up to his shoulder as Hermione maintained the shield from behind him. Squinting through the glare of the flames, he could see the black cloak and death's head mask of a Death Eater standing on the back patio, wand raised with the tip glowing orange. A gentle squeeze of his trigger saw the mask shatter as the Death Eater's head snapped backwards. Voldemort's faceless minion sprawled to the ground, unmoving. There was a long moment where nothing could be heard beyond the sound of the crackling flames, and then the stillness was shattered by a bellow of rage, followed by a barrage of spellfire.

Harry ducked behind the kitchen's island, which had not yet caught fire, and Hermione crouched beside him, maintaining the shield generated by her glowing staff. Peering around the barrier just enough to see through the shattered glass doors, Harry quickly counted a half-dozen other Death Eaters besides the one he'd already killed, though he had no idea how many might lay beyond the edge of the light. The black-robed terrorists shot spell after spell into the burning house, and he imagined that there was not a one of them that he'd like to experience. Quelling the nagging voice deep inside that he was taking the lives of fellow human beings (a voice that sounded suspiciously like that of Albus Dumbledore), he began to line up his shots and take the Death Eaters down.

***DIM***

The sound of gunfire from the rear of the house alerted the other three that there was enemy contact. They moved as one toward the side of the house and pressed forward to the backyard. Even as they crept around the hedgerow that bordered the Grangers' home, a series of pops sounded from both the front yard and the backyard, signalling new arrivals apparating in.

"Shit," Remus observed. "I should've ordered in some hand grenades too."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Guess we'll just have to settle for plain old blasting curses, huh?"

"Give me a minute," Luna said, slinging her rifle to her back. She gave a shrill whistle, and Kaisa faded into view.

"Fuck!" Sirius exclaimed, jumping back. "What the hell, Luna?"

The blonde girl, a mad gleam in her eye, laughed. "It's just a little makeover," she said.

He just shook his head, even as Remus quirked an eyebrow. "A little makeover, she says."

The glamours Luna had applied to her unicorn transformed the magical creature's snow-white coat into one of pitch-black, and her pearly spiral horn into a jagged, crystalline horn seemingly made of diamond. Kaisa's eyes now burned an angry red, and her mane, tail, and hooves seemed to be made from living fire. In short, besides the horn she now looked like a nightmare, one of the fabled steeds from the terrifying legend of the Wild Hunt.

"Well, I did have some inspiration from my heavy metal album covers," she explained. "It only seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. How are you tonight, Sparkledust?" she asked as she stroked the fiery-looking mane. She climbed on the unicorn's back, and the two Marauders had to admit that despite everything, the diminutive blonde was probably one of the most terrifying figures they'd seen in a while.

"Front yard first," she went on. "Lay down some covering fire, take some of those guys out, and for the gods' sake don't hit me!" Screaming like a banshee, Luna urged Kaisa forward, brandishing the curious night-sword in her hand.

She burst out from around the burning corner, seemingly through the flames and looking for all the world like an avenging spirit from the depths of Hell. Accustomed to being the ones filling souls with terror, the Death Eaters as a whole were not expecting to be terrorized themselves. As one they froze up for just a few seconds as they tried to come to grips with this new, unwelcome feeling, ignoring or unaware of the fact that some of their number immediately fell dead.

A ball of light not unlike a tiny star shot from the tip of her sword, burning a hole through every Death Eater in its path as it went, until it embedded itself into the ground. Yelling in fear, they scattered out of her path. Those few not fast enough to get completely out of her way lost their heads to her sword as she charged through.

"Stand your ground, you filthy animals!" one man roared as he grabbed one of the fleeing Death Eaters by the throat and slammed him to the ground. Weaklings and cowards for the most part, he sneered to himself. They were happy to rain death and destruction on complete strangers, so long as those strangers did not fight back. No, those in the dark lord's inner circle were about the only ones of this lot that he had any measure of respect for. He'd never taken Voldemort's tattoo himself, but he had an understanding with the dark lord, and commanded much the same fear and respect in the Death Eaters' ranks as any member of the inner circle. "It's just one little girl! If you run from the likes of her, I'll eat your fucking hearts myself!"

Easily the most physically imposing of the dark lord's forces, not to mention holding a reputation as vicious as that of Bellatrix Lestrange herself, Fenrir Greyback's words were enough to embolden the dozen or so remaining Death Eaters. Scattering from where they were originally clumped together, they began throwing curses at the blonde witch as she turned her steed around and prepared for another charge.

Now that Greyback was out in the open, Luna recognized the infamous werewolf in the firelight. She was thankful that it was not a full moon, though she knew the brutal man was dangerous enough as it was. Trusting that Sirius and Remus would protect her, she changed her sword to her left hand, drew her combat knife, and charged toward Greyback, ignoring the others.

His mouth twisted into a feral grin as he crouched in anticipation. He dodged the white stars that flew from her sword, preparing to leap up and knock her off her mount. He was not concerned in the slightest with the puny knife she was pointing at him. He'd gone up against tougher foes with bigger weapons using only his hands and teeth, and he was the one still alive.

As she bore down on him, she could see that he was getting ready to jump. She began uttering a quick incantation, keeping the dagger pointed at him, voicing the last phrase as he leapt.

Fenrir Greyback found himself impaled just under his sternum on a long spear, much like a ranseur, that had a moment ago been nothing but a simple knife. The girl's momentum had driven the blade almost all the way through him, the wings at the base of the long spearpoint catching the werewolf's body and preventing it from riding up the shaft. As he had been in mid-air when he was impaled, the force of the impact was not quite enough to dismount the blonde witch, but she could not carry the weight of his body for any length of time. She directed her rapidly-falling spear to the base of a tree less than ten feet behind the werewolf in her direction of travel and slammed the spearpoint protruding from his back into the base of the trunk, just above the ground, pinning him in place. That impact was enough to numb her arm and knock her from the back of her unicorn. She fell to the ground, but still managed to hang onto her sword. Kaisa immediately turned around and stood between her and the other Death Eaters as she climbed to her feet, shaking her entire right arm to restore feeling.

For the first time in his life, Greyback was scared. The impact as he hit the tree had driven the breath from him, and even now he was struggling to breathe. The wound burned like fire, and he was just aware enough to realize that that meant the spearhead was at least silver-plated. He grabbed at the wings pressing around his ribcage and with his rapidly-dwindling strength tried to pry the weapon up. If he could just get it out of the tree then he could pull it out, and the wound, while serious, was nothing a good healing charm couldn't fix. Even if he could just use his feet to get some leverage… but his feet wouldn't respond at all. In fact, he couldn't even feel them. Or his legs, for that matter. He growled with impotent rage as he saw that little blonde bitch get to her feet, sword in one hand and wand in the other and proceed to attack the remaining Death Eaters. At the same time, a strange loud popping sound came from around the corner of the burning house. Tilting his head in that direction, he was stunned to see the weakling Lupin step out with a strange device held up to his shoulder. Each pop was accompanied by a small burst of flame at the end of the device, and each time a Death Eater fell, sometimes screaming, sometimes already dead. Between him and the girl, the remainder of the dark lord's forces on this side of the house were quickly eliminated.

And that just couldn't be right. The oh-so-great Albus fucking Dumbledore would never stoop to killing his enemies, nor would he allow his underlings to do so. And Remus had his head so far up Dumbledore's arse he could see out of the old man's mouth, so it was obvious that the so-called _Leader of the Light_ was around here somewhere. _So what the hell was going on?_ That crazy little bitch had obviously killed or seriously maimed each of the Death Eaters she'd faced, not to mention the fact that she'd driven a _silver spear_ through him. That was entirely out of character for the old man. Plus, he figured that Dumbledore would not appreciate the makeup the girl wore, nor the unicorn she rode.

The girl was walking back to him, twirling the sword in her hand and… _singing?_ Well, she was singing under her breath, anyway, not like she was performing for an audience or anything. Some useless drivel about no longer being a nice guy, of all things. "So what now, bitch?" he growled, droplets of blood weakly spraying from his lips.

Her smile was disturbingly innocent, especially with the feral glint in her eyes. "Now you pay for your crimes, Mr. Greyback," she said with a cheery voice.

"You think the Ministry cells will hold me?" he laughed. "Azkaban, perhaps, but it's not there anymore, is it?"

"Oh, I know," she said. "That's why I'm going to cut your head off."

"So much for being the good guys, huh?" the werewolf mocked. "What would Dumbledore think?"

She shrugged. "I don't really care what the barmy old coot thinks," she said. "And just because I'm good doesn't mean I'm nice." With that she swung her sword and Fenrir Greyback's long reign of terror ended.

Remus Lupin gazed wordlessly at the corpse of the beast that had ruined his life thirty years ago. "You know," he finally said, "I admit that I would've enjoyed ending the bastard's life myself. But given his penchant for attacking children and turning new werewolves from the ones he didn't fuck up beyond repair, I think it's quite fitting that you, Luna, one of his favourite kind of targets, killed him."

"Thank you, Mr. Lupin," she said quietly. "I can certainly understand your desire for personal vengeance, but I'm happy that it hasn't consumed you like it has others. It speaks volumes for your character that you can see past that and recognize poetic justice. Now," she continued, "let's go help our friends."

***DIM***

The Death Eaters outside quickly learned to stay back from the glass doors, and for the moment there was an impasse. Curses of all colours still flew in through the shattered doors, but the angles were such that none came close to hitting the two Gryffindors.

"We've got to find my parents," Hermione said as they crouched behind the island. Her voice was mostly steady, but Harry could hear the apprehension within.

"This late at night, they would've been asleep, right?" he said.

"I'm sure. They'd have work tomorrow."

"We'll have to make it upstairs, then. Move slow, make sure you're on solid footing, keep that shield up, and stay beside me. I'll keep up, but I've got to cover our rear too while I try to put out the fire."

Keeping low, they backed into the dining room, and from there went back to the living room. The fire was mostly gone from the charred and blistered walls, but the upstairs hall was still burning. With his wand in his left hand, Harry kept a steady stream of water flowing, extinguishing the flames, all the while keeping his rifle in his right hand and braced with the sling around his shoulder.

The master bedroom was at the end of the hall. Step by step they went, Harry dousing the flames and testing the burnt floorboards before putting his full weight on them. Hermione stayed with him, protecting them both from the occasional bit of falling debris with the shield generated by her amazing staff. At last they came to the bedroom door and slowly opened it.

The fire had not yet consumed the Granger's bedroom, but it was clear even from the doorway that Hermione's parents were no longer among the living. They lay unmoving on their bed, sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling that was just starting to burn.

With a choked sob, Hermione ran to her parents' bed and collapsed at the bedside, her staff falling to the floor as she grabbed her father's cold, lifeless hand and wept. Harry knelt beside her and wrapped his arms around her, enraged at the pointless violence the monsters of the magical world inflicted upon the innocent.

The pop in the hallway of someone apparating almost went unnoticed, but the cold, silken voice that spoke from the doorway got their immediate attention.

"So very touching, and so very predictable," it sneered.

Harry looked up to see the reptilian visage of the creature who had murdered his parents, along with countless others, smirking at him. He leapt to his feet and raised his wand, already knowing it was too late but determined to protect the woman he loved with his last breath. Even as he moved, he heard the hated voice of the monster once known as Tom Marvolo Riddle scream the foul words of the curse that had set the course of his short life: _"Avada Kedavra!"_


	13. Desolation

Seeing the lifeless bodies of her parents shattered Hermione's world. Now she too was an orphan, yet another casualty of the senseless war that was a direct result of unreasonable, unbridled hatred on the part of a privileged few and the general unwillingness on the part of the authorities to hold those same self-entitled arseholes accountable for their actions. In the midst of her pain and sorrow, she was suddenly overwhelmed with rage and disgust for the entire magical world. No longer was it a source of wonder and amazement – it had effectively ruined her life, along with the life of the young man she had fallen for. By all that was holy, once she finished this quest that Luna's grandmum had asked them to complete, she was done. She'd never leave Harry, nor Luna, but she'd do her level best to have nothing to do with the rest of them. Hell, she'd happily burn Hogwarts to the ground at this point, never mind the fucking Ministry.

She looked up through tear-filled eyes as she heard the self-styled dark lord speak. She'd never faced him before – that was always Harry's fate – but there was no mistaking him. _There_ stood the monster who was directly responsible for this madness. True, he was simply the inevitable result of the society and thought-processes that he manipulated for his own ends, but that did not make him any less culpable.

A scream of righteous fury bubbled up inside her as she heard the first syllables of that dreaded incantation. Time seemed to slow down as her boyfriend leapt to his feet, raising the wand that was still in his hand as he'd embraced her. Her hand was already moving to the holster at her side as the sickly green light left the end of Voldemort's wand. Even as the spell impacted Harry's chest and sent him flying back across the room, her pistol was in her hand and pointed at their enemy. The first bullet left the chamber as Harry went flying past her, and her wrathful scream passed her lips at the same moment.

The 9mm bullet hit Voldemort in the upper chest, shattering his right collarbone and shoulder, and knocking him back out of the doorway. The next five broke ribs and shredded much of his lower organs, causing untold agony to the sadistic creature that enjoyed inflicting such pain on others. Cursing and spitting blood, the dark lord crawled to his feet, fixing the bushy-haired witch with a glare of absolute hate. "You will suffer for your audacity," he hissed. His wounds would not allow him to raise his wand and suitably punish the filthy mudblood. He started to turn in place to apparate back to Malfoy Manor, but before he could complete the manoeuvre another bullet destroyed his right kneecap. He fell to the charred hallway carpet, turning the air blue with his curses.

At that moment, Harry climbed to his feet, his eyes burning with anger. The cuirass he wore had indeed protected him from the killing curse, but the impact still bloody well _hurt_. Drawing his sword, he lovingly caressed the back of Hermione's head as he walked past. His eyes did not once leave the fallen dark lord.

Whatever that bint had done to him hurt like the very devil but watching the furious young man stalk toward him brandishing a sword that burned with a brilliant holy light of its own caused him to sense a level of fear that he hadn't felt since he'd gone by the name Tom Riddle. Despite the humiliation, he scuffed himself back through the grime and soot in a futile attempt to get away.

"Whose idea was this?" Harry growled.

Riddle's only response was to hiss and spit at him. Without another word, Harry swung the sword and took his foe's wand arm off at the already-broken shoulder. "Tell me!" he demanded as Voldemort screamed. The wound was inflicted by a consecrated holy weapon, and as the dark lord was in reality an undead spirit fully possessing a construct formed with the foulest of dark magic, the resulting agony far exceeded that of the infamous torture curse. By Mordred, he wanted to pass out from the pain, but it wouldn't let him!

Another swing of the sword cost Voldemort his leg and reduced him to tears. "Snape!" he screamed as he wept. "It was Snape's idea! He felt it was the best way to draw you out of hiding!"

Harry gazed down at his vanquished foe, his expression unreadable. "Did he, now," he said, his voice neutral. "And now it has cost you everything." With a final blow of his sword, he removed the head of Britain's most feared dark lord in recent history. He immediately turned around and went to his girlfriend, not giving the headless corpse a second look.

"Thank you, Mione," he whispered as he took her in his arms.

She clung to him, still weeping over the loss of her parents. "Oh, Harry," she sobbed. "Why did they do this? I've lost everything except for you and Luna now."

"It's because they're evil bastards and delight in spreading misery," he said. His voice hitched as he too shed tears for the Grangers. They had accepted him, shown him a measure of love even. They had not once looked down on him, nor considered him unworthy of their daughter. They had built a home in which he truly felt peace for the first time in his life. As much as he'd loved Hogwarts, especially in contrast to the Dursleys, he couldn't escape the fact that there were elements there that had always had it in for him, not to mention his death-defying adventures every year. He'd felt welcomed at the Weasleys home too, but it had always been so chaotic there that he couldn't truly relax. Grimmauld Place was just too oppressive to feel comfortable. But the Grangers had created the warm, caring environment that made Hermione into the amazing young woman that she had become, and for the brief time he'd stayed there, he finally understood what it meant to be part of a true family. "But there's one less mastermind now," he continued, "and it's because of you. You vanquished Riddle and prevented him from escaping. You took him down, Mione, you defeated the arsehole who ruined our lives and the lives of so many others. I just cleaned up the mess, so to speak."

She nodded into his chest. "Perhaps they'll rest easy, then. Oh god, Harry, it still hurts so much though!" Her body shook as she wept, and he gently rubbed her back.

"Love, we've got to get them out of here before the whole place collapses. I promise you, we'll grieve together when we're all safe."

His devastated girlfriend nodded as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and retrieved her staff. The pistol went back in her holster as she gripped the crystal staff with both hands and put the shield back up. Harry levitated the bodies of her parents onto the thick blanket covering the bed and gently wrapped them up together. He then levitated the blanket, and the two of them made their way down the stairs. As they passed the headless corpse of the fallen dark lord, Hermione got a pensive look in her eye. She knelt beside the body and took Voldemort's wand from the limp fingers of his hand. She gazed at it for several moments, her expression unreadable, before standing and dropping it into one of the cargo pockets on her pants legs.

***DIM***

The ritualized spells the hunter had cast suddenly alerted to Voldemort's whereabouts. Ever since the cemetery at Little Hangleton, there had been no sign that the dark lord was anywhere in Britain. It was ludicrous to think that he'd abandoned these shores, however, and the hunter strongly suspected that a fidelius charm was protecting him. Now, after more than a month had passed, Voldemort had left the safety of his refuge, wherever it was, and was vulnerable. Using specialized wardstones charged at the time of the initial ritual and planted all over the island of Britain, the hunter was able to determine the dark lord's position to within fifty yards, and after gathering the necessary gear and weapons, shadowjumped to the location.

***DIM***

As soon as he'd gotten word from Mundungus Fletcher, the sleazy and unscrupulous "independent purveyor of magical artefacts," which was basically a fancy way of saying that he dealt in stolen or illegal magical goods, Albus Dumbledore contacted the members of the Order of the Phoenix that he had thus far been able to recruit. The resurrection of Voldemort had happened earlier than he'd anticipated, and he knew Minister Fudge's tendency to bury his head in the sand. He knew he couldn't count on the Ministry as it was for the most part staffed with corrupt politicians, incompetents, and sycophants.

The Order of the Phoenix had been his own private organization that opposed Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the last war that suddenly ended with the failed attack on Harry Potter in 1981. The Order's primary duties were gathering information and guarding certain people or facilities Dumbledore deemed important to the war effort, and occasionally engaging in combat with the enemy.

Then, as now, Dumbledore conveniently overlooked the facts that the Order members were not trained soldiers, that he wasn't responsible for the first victory against Voldemort in the first place, and that he himself really had no idea how to successfully prosecute a war. Specifically, he chose to approach it as more of a police action against criminals, which meant that his rules of engagement limited his people to "stun, capture, and send to trial." While that mindset, which, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he also imposed on the auror force, allowed him to claim the so-called "moral high ground," it very nearly cost them the war.

Voldemort was determined to win at any cost and took particular delight in the acts of torture and murder. On the occasions that his forces clashed with the Order or magical law enforcement, his minions would always use lethal curses, and as a result many people died. The few Death Eaters that were captured were taken to trial, but due to a corrupt Ministry or sheer incompetence they would either be acquitted, or they would escape on the way to prison. Either way, they would be free to continue with their depraved behaviour in short order.

And as long as those fighting them had their hands tied, the fall of magical Britain was inevitable.

The only thing that stopped the madness was the sacrificial ritual conducted by Lily Potter so that her infant son might live. According to the official story, at least the one that Dumbledore allowed to be spread, her love and true sacrifice gave Harry a special protection that caused Voldemort's final spell that fateful night to backfire, destroying the dark lord's corporeal form in the process. It was not due to anything Dumbledore himself had accomplished.

The fact of the matter was that Dumbledore had once defeated a dark lord known as Gellert Grindelwald decades before in single combat, and over the years began to believe his own legend that grew as a result of his victory. Again, he conveniently overlooked the fact that he hadn't actually killed Grindelwald, just defeated him. As Grindelwald had been the driving force behind Adolf Hitler's rise to power, resulting in a war that threatened to destroy all of Europe, magical and nonmagical alike, the people of Britain (and likely all of Europe) would have gratefully made him Minister for Magic for life because of his victory.

Even so, his victory did not automatically grant him the capability of running a successful military campaign, another fact that he ignored. If he was totally candid with himself, which he rarely was in this regard, he'd have to admit that he enjoyed wearing the hat of a general, the thrill of planning and plotting strategy, the moves and countermoves as he positioned his forces against those of his adversary. He was hampered by his belief that he alone had all the answers, that he alone had the proper vision of the future, that he alone could understand and carry the burden of the true meaning of the prophesy that was core to everything, and that his forces were little more than chess pieces to be callously sacrificed for the sake of winning the game. He assuaged himself by claiming that it was all for the Greater Good of the wizarding realm, and as such the needs of the many most assuredly outweighed the needs of the few. He even convinced himself that he would sacrifice his own person if the Greater Good required it, though it would never actually come to that because he was the only person who could guarantee that bold vision of the future coming to pass – and that vision required his presence every step of the way.

Though he'd never admit it, his vision of the future was not unlike that of Grindelwald, even to the point of using the same catchphrase of "the Greater Good." The only difference, really, was the means of bringing it to fruition. Where Grindelwald, and now Voldemort, for that matter, preferred immediate domination and subjugation through fear and threat of violence, Dumbledore preferred the long-term view, working quietly behind the scenes and shifting public opinion in the direction he wanted it to go. The end result, though, was the same – a unified world in which everyone knew their own place, much like cogs in a great machine. Those gifted with the talents of magic would, of course, be the ruling elite, while those without would happily serve their beneficent masters as labourers and mundane artisans. The preservation of the noble and ancient magical houses was central to his plans. Purity of blood, Voldemort's rallying cry, truly did not matter so much as the preservation and strengthening of the family lines. It was critical to keep new blood flowing into the lines, and to that end the so-called muggleborn witches and wizards had tremendously important roles to fill. Granted, they themselves would never be allowed to rule – those roles were reserved for the Heads of the Noble and Ancient Houses – but they would be grateful that their offspring, once properly raised and educated, would one day take those ruling seats.

The immediate problem, beyond that of Voldemort's physical return (though that had been inevitable) and that of the missing Harry Potter, was that his recruitment for the new Order had not gone as well as he'd hoped. Sure, several of his old standbys were solidly in his camp already, such as Fletcher, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Elphias Doge, Emmeline Vance, Severus Snape, and some others, but many of those he'd hoped for were not interested in joining. His old friend Alastor Moody, once he'd been rescued from the magical trunk where Barty Crouch Junior had kept him imprisoned those past few months, had cursed him for a dog and left the school, disappearing to who knows where. The grizzled retired auror didn't believe for a moment that Dumbledore had been fooled by Barty Crouch Junior's masquerade, which meant that the headmaster had willingly left him imprisoned by the escaped Death Eater. The newly-exonerated Sirius Black, though a formidable warrior, was a lost cause, as was Remus Lupin. The latter was especially unfortunate as he'd hoped to use Lupin to convince the werewolf packs to at least stay neutral and not side with Voldemort, though actively fighting the dark lord would certainly be preferable. Nymphadora Tonks' metamorph capabilities would have been an invaluable asset, as would her auror connections, but the new funding and less restrictive rules of engagement found her focusing whole-heartedly on the auror department. "After all," she'd told him, "this is why I signed up for the aurors in the first place. Now that the Minister has authorized us to take the gloves off and actually do our bloody jobs, there's no reason to join a questionable vigilante group." Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt declined his invitation for much the same reasons.

Almost immediately after he tried to recruit the two aurors, he'd been confronted by an irate Amelia Bones who ripped him up one side and down the other for trying to poach some of her best people. "And if you try this shit again, Albus, Chief Warlock or not, I'll have you up on charges and in one of my interrogation rooms dosed to the gills with veritaserum faster than you can call your bloody phoenix," she'd growled at him. Wincing at the reminder of the loss of his enslaved bird, of which he'd told no person whatsoever, he hurriedly voiced his compliance and left the fuming witch alone.

And so, his Order of the Phoenix was officially reformed, though without many of the people he'd hoped for. His immediate priority was drawing Harry Potter out from wherever he was hiding and back under his considerable influence. For the sake of the wizarding world, he had to groom the infuriating lad to fulfil his destiny as mandated by Sybil Trelawney's prophesy all those years ago. Granted, "either must die at the hands of the other" indicated that there was a chance that the boy could kill Voldemort, but who in their right mind would dare hope that a mere child could possibly defeat a brutal, sadistic murderer with over half a century of experience with the darkest, foulest magics? No, the boy had to die, fulfilling the prophesy and ending the magical protection around the dark lord so that someone else, namely himself, could step in and destroy Voldemort once and for all.

Timing was everything, though. He had long suspected that the monster formerly known as Tom Riddle had done the unthinkable and created horcruxes, or soul jars, thus anchoring his soul to this plane and preventing it from passing on when Potter had somehow destroyed him that long-ago night of Hallowe'en, 1981. While he had no qualms about using dark magic for his purposes, not even he would dare resort to the profane rituals of black magic, of which the horcrux ritual was one of the worst. His suspicions were confirmed two years ago after the boy had managed to slay the ancient basilisk that had terrorized the school for almost the entire year. He had known that the diary that had possessed young Ginevra Weasley and nearly taken her over completely was a horcrux the moment that Harry had placed the ruined book in his hands. The foul black magic that had fuelled the diary's power was palpable enough that he felt the need to bathe after touching it. Even the untrained and ignorant boy had unconsciously wiped his hands on his robes after handing it over. It was evident, though, that Riddle had created several more of the abominations, and so long as even one was still on this plane he could be resurrected.

It was pointless to allow the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort until all the horcruxes were destroyed – when he killed Voldemort for good he had to be sure that the dark lord could never again be resurrected. And that was the final reason that young Harry had to die. When the boy gave him Riddle's diary, he was able to confirm his long-held suspicions that there was indeed a fragment of Voldemort's twisted and shattered soul embedded in the lad's scar. Since the only way to destroy a horcrux was to destroy its container, that meant that the boy had to die before Voldemort could be permanently vanquished.

To compound his problem, he really needed the Potter line to continue – and preferably under his control. His vision of the future was centred on the preservation of the noble houses, and House Potter was one of the most ancient and wealthiest of them all – not that he'd allowed young Harry to know that fact. Too many of the noble houses had been eradicated during Voldemort's campaign of madness, more than magical Britain could truly afford. He had considerable influence on his own, but if he could add the Potter name (and especially wealth) he could push that influence even further. To that end he'd convinced Arthur and Molly Weasley to groom their daughter to become the future Lady (and eventually Widow) Potter. True, the Weasleys were far from the most influential family, nor the most pleasant to work with (especially that harridan Molly Weasley – she was a true daughter of the Prewett line) but their bloodlines were acceptable and, most importantly, they were fanatically loyal to him. Especially with the promises of the Potter wealth and the strength of his blood added to their own. He just needed to get the boy away from that insufferable know-it-all muggleborn Granger so that an acceptable relationship could be given time to grow with young Ginny before he was expected to fulfil his duty to the wizarding world.

Admittedly, while Miss Granger was an exceptional witch in her own right, she was far more valuable as breeding stock, just the same as any other muggleborn. If Harry had not been the child of prophesy and so important to his plans for the future, he actually wouldn't have an issue with the two of them being together. His chief problem with the two was that he had little to no control over either one. For the sake of his plans, their independence had to be tempered and brought to heel, something that would never happen so long as they were together. He'd prefer that her blood also be joined with the Weasleys, but it looked like her ideal match, the youngest son Ron, had had such a falling out with her that he doubted that he'd be able to get them together at all, short of using love, lust, and loyalty potions. That was an option he would prefer not to use due to the fact that such potions had been known to create complications in future births when used in the amounts he feared would be required to get the two to even speak civilly to each other. The Longbottom scion would be an acceptable alternative for her blood, though, especially if the Longbottom Regent, the Lady Augusta, were to be removed from play, allowing him to step in and arrange for the guardianship of young Neville, much like he'd done with Harry. Perhaps Miss Susan Bones would be a good match for Ron. As the last of her noble house, it was expected that whomever she marries would take her family name, and since Ron was the youngest of six brothers he was not necessary to continue the Weasley name. Not to mention that union could also give him a measure of leverage with her formidable aunt, Madam Amelia Bones, the director of the DMLE.

Those, however, were thoughts for another time. He needed to get Harry Potter back under his thumb. While Dumbledore had no problem sending his chess pieces to their deaths, he was never one to needlessly waste his resources. With Harry's death inevitable for the final victory over Voldemort, it only made sense to arrange the boy's death in such a way that it could best be used for his ultimate plans. The thought of all that he, as the mentor, confidant, and guiding figure of the Boy-Who-Lived, could accomplish in the name of the fallen Harry Potter, who had so nobly sacrificed himself for the benefit of all, still sent delightful shivers up his spine. By invoking the hero's name there would not be a soul who dared question him. All he had to do was identify, locate, and destroy the remaining horcruxes, have the boy get young Ginny pregnant, orchestrate the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, watch Harry fulfil his destiny, step in and destroy the victorious dark lord, then mourn over the fallen boy's corpse and use the young man's legacy to reshape the magical realm into his wonderful vision of the future. All those plans that had begun on the night Voldemort murdered the Potters and was in turn defeated by their son (at least in the tales Dumbledore had told) would come to fruition, leading the entire world into a glorious new future.

To this day, Dumbledore had no idea what exactly had transpired that fateful Hallowe'en night, but he suspected that Lily Potter had cast some obscure protective ritual magic over her infant son to allow his survival. What, after all, could an infant do against such a dark lord? The thought was even more laughable than the idea of a teenager defeating him. That would mean, though, that it was Lily Potter, not Harry Potter, who had initially vanquished the dark lord. Sure, he had been the one to start spreading the stories that it was somehow Harry who had defeated Voldemort and survived – after all, a living hero was much better than a dead hero, especially a living hero who could then go on to become a martyr for the Greater Good. Be that as it may, it was clear that the prophesy had not been fulfilled that night.

He knew that if his girlfriend's parents were under attack, Harry would not hesitate to show up and try to rescue them. That was just the kind of person he was, and while Dumbledore did not approve of Miss Granger's presence in the boy's life, the old man had no qualms about taking advantage of the situation to further advance his Greater Good. To that end, he'd allowed the potions master to inform Voldemort of their address, and as soon as he'd received word from Severus that the dark lord was targeting the muggleborn's parents, he had set up a rotating shift of watchers from his Order across the street from their home, waiting for Harry to appear but with strict orders to not interfere with any Death Eater activity that might take place until then.

It took a little more time than he liked, but once the thirteen Order members he contacted after Fletcher's alert flooed in to his office (except for Severus, who was still with Voldemort), Dumbledore made a portkey to the Granger home from one of Argus Filch's old mop handles. He cursed again at the loss of the Elder Wand and his wand arm. He'd been forced to relearn how to cast his vast repertoire of spells using his left hand, and while he had successfully done so, he now commanded only a fraction of the power he'd once wielded with barely a second thought. The making of a portkey, for example, was a more significant drain on his power now than it used to be, but even so he was still able to make one. Once directed, his followers grabbed onto the handle and he activated the transportation magic.

***DIM***

At the DMLE headquarters, the senior auror staff duty officer was kicked back at his desk and considering drinking a pepper-up potion to stay awake through the rest of his shift. He really didn't care for the night shift, but fortunately it was the last one of this three-day cycle before his three-day break. After his break he'd be on duty for three more days, but fortunately they'd be day shifts. He wouldn't have to pull night shifts again until the following month. It wasn't really a bad schedule – twelve hours shifts, three days on duty, then three days off. When he was on duty, he didn't have much more time than to go home, kiss his girlfriend, eat dinner (or breakfast, as the case may be), grab a quick shower, and go to sleep before getting up and going to work again. Those three days off in a row, though, were always wonderful.

He was instantly alert as an alarm sounded, drawing his attention to the giant magical map of Britain affixed to the wall. His eyes widened in surprise as he read and recorded the magical energy levels spiking in the town of Crawley, south of London. He couldn't recall ever seeing such high levels, which meant there were multiple people casting a _lot_ of spells. _At this hour in the morning?_ he wondered. _What the bloody hell is going on down there?_ He immediately dispatched all on-duty aurors to the location, then called his boss, Director Amelia Bones.

***DIM***

By the time Luna, Sirius, and Remus peered around the rear corner of the Granger house into the backyard, the gunfire from within the house had ceased. The Death Eaters still cast all manner of dark spells in the general direction of the kitchen, and at such a rate that Luna knew they would all be suffering from severe exhaustion and magical depletion in short order. Although there were several unmoving cloaked and hooded bodies lying on the ground, there were still at least twice as many living Death Eaters than had been in the front yard.

The three each cast two blasting hexes in rapid succession before switching over to rifles in the case of the two Marauders. Luna charged toward the Death Eaters on foot, wielding the transfigured silver spear she'd pulled from Fenrir Greyback's corpse. Weaving through the barrage of spellfire suddenly redirected toward her, Luna allowed the divine knowledge of her martial discipline to take over. Ducking, leaping, lunging, and blocking with her enchanted weapon, she took the fight to the heart of the enemy while her two instructors squeezed off round after round, further decimating the Death Eater ranks. She called out incantations her enemies had never before heard, conjuring thorny vines to burst out of the ground and strangle and ensnare her foes. Bolts of lightning blasted down from the heavens, sending Voldemort's minions flying. Cracks opened in the ground like gaping wounds, swallowing them and then resealing, burying and crushing them in the cold embrace of the earth. And all the while, her spear practically sang as she skewered her enemies, slashing open robes and flesh alike in her macabre dance of slaughter.

One of the primary fallacies of Voldemort's forces were that they were not well-trained in combat. They depended on fear and surprise and were little more than bullies and thugs. They were not prepared for resistance. Frankly, it took little skill or bravery to cast a killing curse at the back of a fleeing victim.

Another significant fallacy was the fact that his forces were predominantly purebloods, and the worst sort of pureblood at that. That meant that they depended exclusively on magic and could not comprehend nonmagical means of doing much of anything, particularly, in this case, fighting. So convinced of their own superiority were they that had anyone suggested to them that they should learn to defend against physical attacks, that person would have been mocked, ridiculed, and shunned if not slain on the spot for daring to suggest such an outrageous thing as learning to fight like common muggles. They could perform adequately when trading spellfire from a short distance away, but when they suddenly found a petite blonde girl in their midst, cutting them down with the ferocity of a demon while using what they considered a muggle weapon, they were woefully unprepared to defend against her onslaught.

And so it was that Harry and Hermione, hearing the gunfire and spellfire dissipate in the backyard, went through the kitchen and stepped outside in time to see their beloved sister spin like a whirlwind, slashing open the last standing Death Eater's abdomen and throat before impaling him through the chest. Harry gently lowered the blanket-shrouded bodies of Hermione's parents to the ground before he joined the two girls in a tearful embrace. For several long minutes they stood together and wept, each drawing what comfort they could from the presence of the other two, as the two Marauders stood guard a respectful distance away.

***DIM***

The hunter stepped out of the shadow of a tree on the far side of the backyard to a burning house. It was just in time to witness a mere slip of a girl, wielding a spear longer than she was tall, wade into a sizeable group of obvious Death Eaters. The unmistakable sound of gunfire accompanied the girl's attack, causing the hunter to pause and search until the muzzle flashes were spotted around the near corner of the house. It didn't matter who killed the Death Eaters, just so long as they were all wiped out, so the hunter crouched down to enjoy the show.

A few minutes later, after the blonde girl killed the last of her opponents, two more people came out of the burning house, one levitating a bundle. The hunter watched as the three joined and held each other, then started in surprise as two familiar faces stepped into the dim firelight and took up guard positions around the three young people.

***DIM***

Harry looked up at his godfather and honorary uncle. "Check for survivors," he said, his voice weary. "I also want a full list of the names of every one of these arseholes. If Fudge or Dumbledore tries to cover this up, I'm going to the _Daily Prophet_ with this." He pulled his girls closer to him as the three clung together for support.

So much was going to change now. Voldemort was dead, so all they had to focus on now was stopping the mysterious assassin as soon as they could. After that, they could take their OWLs and finally they could be free. He knew in his heart that he was done with the wizarding world. It had taken almost everything from him, just as it had now done with Hermione. He knew that she would come with him wherever they chose to go, just as he knew that she too was forever disillusioned with the wizarding world. It looked as if Luna would be withdrawing from civilization as a whole and building a new home in the wild somewhere, and to be honest that sounded just fine with him too. Whatever the future held, though, he knew that the three of them would remain together.

"Harry," Remus called, "you may want to see this one."

The young man kissed his girlfriend and left her in the arms of their sister as he went to join his uncle. "Well, well, well," he said as he recognized the pale face of his former Potions professor, still holding a weak sneer as he lay bleeding out on the ground. The stylized death's head mask was pushed back up onto his lank, greasy hair, and his robe had a huge slash from the right shoulder down to the left hip, along with the matching critical wound, courtesy of Luna Lovegood.

The man's breathing was heavy and laboured as he stared up at two of his most hated enemies – _three_ , he corrected himself as Sirius Black joined the other two. "Potter," he spat weakly.

Harry's face remained blank, even as his godfather gave their fallen enemy a nasty smile. "Voldemort is dead," he said, his voice neutral. All three of the men looked at him in surprise when he spoke those words. "Before I took his head, I asked him whose idea it was to attack my girlfriend's parents tonight." He fixed Snape with a steely gaze. "He told me that it was your suggestion, and I knew he was telling the truth. Now I want to know how you got the Grangers' address."

"What makes you think I'll tell you anything?" Snape laughed. "I may be dying, but that doesn't mean I have to help you. Do your worst, it won't be long for me anyway."

"I suggest you answer the boy's question, Severus," a fourth person broke in.

Harry didn't recognize the voice, but by the further paling of Snape's face, along with the shocked gasps of his godfather and uncle, he could tell that the three of them did. He turned to look at the hooded figure as she lowered her hood, revealing beautiful red hair, brilliant emerald eyes, and a shadowed, haunted face that he'd only seen in photos, and once in an enchanted mirror. "Mum?" he whispered.


	14. Reunions

Though seeing two of her dearest friends alive and well ripped her heart in two all over again, Lily Potter could not force herself to remain hidden. Only partially swayed by Albus Dumbledore's words, she'd promised herself fourteen years ago that she'd left magical Britain behind for good. She truly wanted nothing more to do with the world that had destroyed her life that terrible Hallowe'en night. The last thing she remembered from the attack was her beloved James telling her to get their precious boy and flee before there was a violent exchange of spellfire, followed by an ominous thumping of feet up the staircase. She remembered the despair and horror she felt when Voldemort opened the door of the nursery and stepped inside, ordering her to step away from her son. She'd pled for Harry's life to no avail before a flash of green light stole her consciousness.

Indeed, she'd thought that she was dead. She could remember seeming to float in an empty void that transcended time and space before feeling a draw, tugging her very essence… somewhere. She awoke to see the leader of the Order of the Phoenix and her former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, standing over her body with a pensive, almost regretful expression on his face that was immediately replaced by shock and surprise. She'd immediately asked about Harry, only to have her world fall to pieces as the old man gravely yet sympathetically informed her that her infant son had not survived the dark lord's attack. Even so, he said, there was some type of backlash that resulted in Voldemort's destruction. The ritual she'd performed as soon as she and James had learned Voldemort was specifically targeting their son had partially failed, it seemed.

Still reeling in shock at the loss of her family, she had numbly listened as her former headmaster gently explained that the dark lord's minions would most assuredly be seeking revenge on her for her role in their master's demise, were it to become known that she had survived. It would be best then, for her sake, to leave Britain behind and start anew in another country, especially as there was now nothing left for her but imminent danger. She hesitantly agreed, not entirely convinced but really having no argument against his words. She remembered asking to see the bodies of her husband and son, only to have Dumbledore tell her that he had already had them removed from the premises and that they were being looked after. And, of course, that it really wouldn't do for her to be seen still alive, especially as the traitor Sirius Black was still at large. She'd responded that the real secret keeper was actually Peter Pettigrew, while Sirius had been a decoy, and thus only Pettigrew could have betrayed them to Voldemort. He had assured her that he would make sure that everything was taken care of, and not to worry about a thing beyond getting out of the country before her survival was discovered. And so, hours later and still somewhat against her better judgement, she found herself on the first available flight to the United States, to the city of Boston, Massachusetts.

She'd made a new life for herself in nonmagical Boston, renting a tiny flat over a bookshop where she had also found a job. She transferred her funds from her nonmagical British bank account to a new bank in the United States, and she still had access to her personal Gringotts account on the rare occasion that she needed to visit the American magical society. There was a small magical community in the Boston area, including a shopping venue much like Diagon Alley back in London tucked away behind similar charms. Lily rarely ventured there, however, due to having a rather bad taste in her mouth regarding the magical world as a whole. She couldn't escape it entirely, as she was realistic enough to acknowledge that certain potions far surpassed nonmagical medicines, and while she could easily brew them herself she still needed ingredients that she just didn't have time or access to gather on her own. And that meant visiting the apothecaries. Every time she was forced to visit, though, she was careful to avoid as much news as possible, especially news from Britain. Her wounds were still too raw, the pain too sharp, and she wanted to forget it as much as she possibly could. She tried to think of it in terms of a nightmare, nothing more than a dream. A terrible dream, but just a dream. Her efforts over time were somewhat successful, but she never truly moved on, having never been given the opportunity to grieve her losses before she found herself fleeing the country.

The bookshop in which she worked catered to a rather specific clientele, specifically those seeking esoteric and paranormal knowledge. Most of what she sold was harmless conjecture, conspiracy theories, and assorted fiction masquerading as the truth, and her customers were largely harmless crackpots, theorists, or dabblers in what they thought was arcane lore. From time to time, though, she'd meet someone who had experienced legitimate paranormal phenomena, as the popular terminology called it, and had evidence beyond circumstantial to lend credence to their tales. Her serious and melancholy air for some reason drew people to her and allowed them to open up and share their stories with her as they discussed new books or theories. Invariably, the legitimate people she spoke with were overall rather quiet about their experiences, choosing not to involve the authorities at all if they could get away with it, simply because they preferred to move on and not have their lives put under a microscope. That was a concept she could readily support. Interestingly enough, not one of her customers were magical in the sense she was familiar with, and to be perfectly honest she preferred to keep it that way.

Over time, she came to the conclusion that there were strange things happening in some of the towns north of Boston, though she never felt compelled to investigate herself. Granted, the stories she heard were decades old, but the general feel of malaise surrounding the descriptions of the towns in the stories sent shivers up her spine. There was one such decrepit small town just a couple of miles northeast of Ipswitch on Plum Island Sound called Innsmouth, which had a decidedly sinister reputation. One of her older customers had even claimed to see some strange, humanoid fish-like creatures coming up out of the water late one night on the dilapidated waterfront of the decaying town.

Another town called Dunwich, far up the Miskatonic in north-central Massachusetts and about ten miles north of the Quabbin Reservoir, up near the border with New Hampshire, also had a dark, menacing reputation. The modern village had all but died out completely, but even as far back as the 1920s it was stagnant and rotting, primarily due to its isolation, and the residents were described as barely literate, poorly mannered, and severely inbred. There had reportedly been an epidemic of cattle mysteriously disappearing, which wasn't that far removed from some of the "cattle mutilation" stories she heard from UFO enthusiasts that frequented the bookshop, except that none of the cattle ever turned up, mutilated or otherwise. There was also something about a creature that left strange gigantic footprints as big around as a large tree trunk. She didn't know quite what to think about those stories, but Dunwich still sounded like a town to avoid if at all possible.

Across Salem Channel from Marblehead, the Miskatonic River spilled out into the Atlantic between the towns of Kingsport on the southern bank and Martin's Beach on the northern bank, though Martin's Beach could actually be considered somewhat of a suburb of Manchester-by-the-Sea. She'd heard strange tales from Kingsport, as well as the small college town of Arkham just up the river a short distance. Arkham was the home of Miskatonic University, one of the premier Ivy League schools in New England. In addition to the standard courses one would expect to find in any prestigious university, it was quietly rumoured that if one were to express a discrete interest in more occult or arcane topics then special courses could be offered in those subjects as well. Regardless of the truth of those rumours, the school's library was quite proud of the fact that it held the most comprehensive collection of occult books, some dating back hundreds if not thousands of years. She never felt the need to visit and peruse the books in question, mostly because the names alone made her skin crawl.

Lily continued to work at the bookstore over the years, and while it wasn't necessarily a happy or even satisfying life, she had grown accustomed to it. She felt relatively comfortable, though she couldn't remember the last time she'd ever really smiled. She listened to her customers, sold books, ordered others, stocked the shelves, and did her best to bury her past.

And then one day at the apothecary as she was restocking her potions ingredients, she overheard a couple of people loudly discussing the shocking events at the Quidditch World Cup just a few days prior. She didn't pick up much of anything regarding the game itself, other than England was hosting and the teams were Bulgaria and Ireland, but the attack during the celebrations afterwards caused her to perk up her ears. Quite a few people had been injured, including the muggle family of the man who owned the land on which the stadium was built, and someone had cast a spell that formed the image of a giant pale green skull in the sky with a snake crawling out of its mouth.

Lily Potter knew _exactly_ what that symbol was. Her entire body shaking, she completed her purchase and rushed home before she collapsed in tears on her threadbare couch. The shell surrounding her anguish had cracked and split, letting her unshed emotions burst forth in a bitter torrent of loss that rapidly escalated into rage. The injustice of her having to flee her homeland after her beloved husband and infant son were brutally murdered overwhelmed her, especially while those whom she knew were guilty used their influence and money to escape the consequences of their actions. That much at least was obvious if they felt that they could disrupt an international event of the nature of the World Cup with impunity, up to and including the wilful torture of innocents, while one of their number was so bold as to cast the infamous Dark Mark in the sky.

It was obvious that the ministry had failed. It was obvious that Dumbledore had failed. No one was going to stand up to those bastards, and the feeling of helplessness she felt before the onslaught of those self-important arseholes sickened her. She could not rely on the magical world to enforce its own laws, and her very soul wept for the justice that had been so long denied her. It did not take her long to decide that if she was going to see justice done, she would have to do it herself.

 _They call themselves Death Eaters,_ she could still remember musing to herself, _well, let them eat death! They shall be gorged on death until they sicken from it._

Within the fortnight, she had slipped into the secure library at Miskatonic University and with trembling hands removed the Necronomicon from its vaults. Less than a month after that, most of which was spent in intense study or power-boosting rituals, she was in Diagon Alley early one morning, nailing the mutilated corpse of Lucius Malfoy to the _Daily Prophet's_ wall.

Her self-mandated mission had been an unqualified success. Over the succeeding months, she had wreaked her vengeance upon each and every member of the despicable group of bigoted sadistic thugs that she could find, holding them just as responsible for the devastation of her life as their twisted master. Using new magics, the likes of which Voldemort himself had never dreamed of, nothing was considered too dark to wield in her thirst for their blood. She could feel her mind and perhaps even her soul slipping away, little by little, as she delved deeper and deeper into forbidden lore, but she cared not. Her natural skills at occlumency, the art of magically occluding or shielding one's mind, prevented the book from taking her over completely and driving her to insanity, as it did for so many of the dabblers and practitioners from the nonmagical world. The forbidden knowledge and resulting usage of the darkest of powers took its toll in other ways. As she displayed Malfoy's desecrated body in Diagon Alley, she noticed that her fingernails had turned black. By the time she had obliterated Azkaban prison, along with the dementors and incarcerated Death Eaters, the blackness had extended to her entire hands. The edges of the taint had a torn, ragged appearance, almost like tiny wisps of black flame slowly waving and twisting just underneath the surface of her skin.

She had no intention of setting herself up as a dark lady, nor did she intend to summon foul spirits to walk unleashed upon the surface of the earth. Her sole driving purpose was to eradicate each and every person who had ever joined the ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters, and when she was finished she fully intended to die herself, hopefully re-joining her husband and son in the afterlife. She suspected, though, that with the unrepentant blood on her hands, seeing them might not be a possibility. She just hoped that if that were to be the case that they would understand why she did what she did. Whatever the afterlife held for her, she would face it unflinching.

Upon learning that the dark lord was still lingering around this plane and had somehow managed to cheat death, she dug into the dark arts even deeper, ransacking the hidden libraries of the Death Eaters she'd murdered for clues. As sick and twisted as those dark tomes were, though, none approached the vile nature of the Necronomicon. Her intimate familiarity with that foul book actually offered a significant measure of protection against those other dark books she stole from her victims, many of which had protective curses tied to them. Though the curses were often triggered, they slipped off her like water from a duck's back. And so it was that after studying a slim, crumbling book taken from the Malfoy collection (though due to its fragility she suspected Lucius had never read it – indeed, from what she recalled she didn't really see him reading much of anything), she discovered the rituals and lore concerning horcruxes, some of the vilest magic known to the wizarding world. After she fully understood the nature of the cursed soul anchors, she cross-referenced with the Necronomicon and figured out the best method of destroying them.

That night at the graveyard in Little Hangleton was supposed to be the end of the entire matter. But for the interference of the man she immediately recognized as Severus Snape, her childhood friend until his betrayal of her by using that filthy word, she would have succeeded then. He'd obviously nursed his master back to health, if tonight's events were anything to judge by.

Careful to avoid being seen just yet, she moved closer to her one-time friends as they called the young man holding the girls over to one of the bodies. She had yet to see his face, but there was something about the way he moved and carried himself that tickled a memory of some kind. Overhearing his words to the dying man she now saw was Snape caused her to seethe inside. The greasy bastard was once again up to his old tricks, namely betraying the innocent and then mocking their outrage. "I suggest you answer the boy's question, Severus," she said as she stepped beside the young man, lowering her hood as she stared daggers at her erstwhile friend.

The simultaneous gasps from her two true friends were expected, as was the young man whipping his face around to see who had just snuck up on them. What wasn't expected was the painfully familiar face of her husband, though much younger, along with vivid green eyes she'd only ever seen when looking in the mirror. "Mum?" the boy whispered.

Time stopped for her, and she couldn't tell if her world was shattering again or if it was being rebuilt. "Harry..." she said, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. For some reason she was finding it hard to breathe. "My son... is that really you?"

***DIM***

The portkey deposited Dumbledore and the thirteen Order members on the darkened street in front of the Grangers' house, where they were joined by Mundungus Fletcher. The headmaster picked up the tell-tale signs of Muggle notice-me-not charms almost immediately, explaining why none of the neighbours were out watching the house burn down. Curiously, it seemed that the downstairs and part of the upstairs was not burning as much as he thought they would be, given that Death Eaters usually tried to set simultaneous fires all over the house they burned. Well, no matter. He'd find Harry in just a few minutes and take him to task for leaving Hogwarts and his influence, citing the destruction of the Grangers' property as sufficient evidence of the magnitude of the boy's folly. If the Grangers were dead as well, which was most likely the case, he could also lay that at the boy's feet, and with all luck he'd be able to use that to drive a permanent wedge between him and the Granger girl. The overwhelming guilt the boy would inevitably feel would make him putty in Dumbledore's hands, ready to be reshaped into the martyr destiny had called him to be.

The old man led his people across the street, wand clutched firmly in his left hand. Though the power of his magic had suffered, his mind was still as sharp as ever, and realistically, his mind had always been one of his most valuable tools – almost as much as the Elder Wand itself. As he mentally reviewed the best ways of forcing the boy's compliance, he noticed the unmoving bodies on the ground, many of them missing heads or limbs. _What in Merlin's name happened here?_ he wondered, his face creasing in a sharp frown. Had the boy fallen so far that he willingly took life that could be redeemed? And if he didn't miss his guess, these were Death Eaters and therefore purebloods, most likely from many of the old families he was trying so desperately to save. Couldn't the boy understand that Voldemort was the only one that truly needed to die? Without the dark lord's malignant influence, the Death Eaters could all be coerced back to the light, preserving the ancient houses and halting the further crippling of the wizarding world. It would be for the very best if Voldemort himself could see the heroism of the boy's martyrdom and repent of his misdeeds, also bringing his followers back into the fold, but Dumbledore would not hold out for that hope. As regrettable as any loss of life was, Voldemort most likely would have to die, and he was resolved to take that burden upon his own weary shoulders. Sadly shaking his head at the tragic loss of life, he led his followers around the house to the backyard.

***DIM***

After getting the alert from the staff duty officer, Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt gave his team one final inspection before they portkeyed to the site of the disturbance. Based on the analysis of the spellfire, it looked like there was an all-out battle being fought in Crawley, of all places. _Why there?_ he wondered. _There isn't a bloody thing of importance down there._ The only thing he could really think of was the possibility that Voldemort's Death Eaters were doing a raid of some kind, but they were usually in and out with a brief flurry of deadly spells, and long gone before the aurors showed up. They just didn't engage in long, drawn-out battles like that, a fact that had caused no end of frustration for the aurors as they were never able to show up in time to get a solid identification of any of the perpetrators.

Due to the sheer volume of magical energy being thrown around, his team was one of five that were going in. Aurors Proudfoot and Savage each had several years of field experience, but both were too young to have seen action during Voldemort's first rise to power. His chief concern was his rookie, Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks. She'd just recently graduated from the auror academy, where she'd earned top marks, but she'd seen very few field missions of this nature so far. Still, it would be a great experience for her, he felt, especially with the extra firepower they were sending in, and he was looking forward to seeing how she handled herself. She appeared calm at the moment, but her hair was cycling colours from pink to violet back to pink. Knowing of her metamorphmagus abilities, and appreciating her otherwise appearance of calm, he said nothing to her about it.

Each of his team wore the standard-issue dragonhide vests that would protect them from most spells other than the Unforgivables, with the standard red auror robes on top, tailored for ease of movement. The uniforms were completed with dragonhide boots, and he insisted that each of his team carry a backup wand and a fighting knife as well. Other team leaders didn't see the value in doing so, at least with the knives, but his best friend, Senior Auror Gawain Robards, was one of those who did. Just as he did, Robards also insisted that his team carry knives and extra wands. It would not do, Shacklebolt and Robards explained to their teams, for an auror to ever be helpless – even if that meant fighting like muggles, something the purebloods were often prone to sneer about. "What's more important?" Robards always asked. "Going home at the end of your shift, or your goddamn pride?" The two team leaders spent extra time with their people making sure they knew how to hold their own without magic as well as with, and invariably their teams came away with much greater confidence in their capabilities.

And now, finally, it looked like Minister Fudge had pulled his head out of his arse and was working with Director Bones rather than trying to curtail her efforts.

Shacklebolt brought his team over as his friend was wrapping up the inspection and briefing of his own team. "Shack's team is going in first, and we're following right behind to cover them," Robards said. "The other three teams will activate their portkeys in sequence ninety seconds after we leave and cover us from behind. Expect hostiles but watch your fire! Standard rules of engagement apply – don't fire unless fired upon, but once engaged take them down! We'd like to interrogate survivors, but don't risk your life to take prisoners. We'll assume this is a regular house as this is a residential section of Crawley, so Shack's team will take the right side and we'll take the left side. If it's a different layout we will re-evaluate on site. Questions?"

"Is it Death Eaters?" one pony-tailed auror asked.

"Unknown, but likely, Williamson," came the reply. "Assume the worst, be ready for it, and we should be alright. Anything else?"

There were no further questions, so the two team leaders presented the lengths of rope they used as portkeys. Everyone grabbed on to their team's appropriate device, and the team leaders spoke the activation phrases.

***DIM***

For a brief moment, Harry forgot everything as he stared into the piercing emerald eyes that still haunted some of his dreams. Everything ceased to exist except for him and his long-lost mother. She was different than he remembered, yet obviously the same. There was a darkness to her now that he'd never seen in any of the pictures of her. The irises of her eyes were still the brilliant green that he usually only saw when he looked in the mirror, but the sclera had turned as black as night. The blackness continued to her eye sockets, though instead of clearly-defined edges there were short, wispy black tendrils of something that looked like shadow brought to life slowly writhing across her upper cheekbones and brow. Longer tendrils twisted and flowed across her temples. It was, he suddenly realized, not too dissimilar to Luna's Alice Cooper makeup.

None of that mattered, though. His mother was alive. "How… how is this possible?" he whispered.

Shock was still written across her face. "You're alive…" she said, reaching out a hesitant hand to his cheek, almost scared to touch him, as if he were another illusion sent to torment her. As her palm touched and caressed the flesh of his cheek, her knees buckled as she fell to the ground, her shoulders quaking in great, heaving sobs. Harry immediately dropped beside her and put his arms around her, holding her as he joined her. All those years of torment from the Dursleys, all the shit that he'd had to endure due to his ignorance of the wizarding world, all of that unnecessary pain and heartache could have been avoided. All this time of mourning the parents he'd never known, wondering what it would be like to be loved and cared for, and his mother had still been alive. Judging from his mum's words and reactions, she must have thought that he was dead too. But who…

His tears disappeared, and his eyes narrowed in fury as one name jumped to the top of the list in his mind. Still holding his weeping mother, he turned back to his former potions professor, who still looked like all his sins had just been dumped into his lap. "Snape," he hissed, his voice as cold as the grave.

Severus Snape heard a tone to the boy's voice that he'd never heard before, one that quite frankly terrified him. Seeing his former best friend alive and well, the same one he'd long thought dead, the same one he'd betrayed through setting Voldemort on her by telling him that cursed prophesy, shattered the veneer of arrogance and condescension he wore like a mask. The only thing left was the terrified half-blood boy who'd been sorted into the house of cunning and ambition, which even thirty years ago had been a bastion of the pureblood bigotry that pervaded society. Despite himself, he turned to look into the eyes of the son of his former best friend and his former nemesis.

"Did Dumbledore put you up to this?" the young Potter quietly demanded.

Snape did not answer, _could_ not answer, but the shame in his eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. Disgusted, the young man looked up at his uncle and godfather and gave them a wordless nod. Rising to his feet, he helped Lily to her own. "Mum," he said, "there's a couple of people I'd like you to meet." With that he took her over to introduce her to his girlfriend and their best friend, quickly explaining what all was going on as he went.

Sirius and Remus watched them step away, both feeling numb with shock as they stared at the woman they'd buried in their hearts years ago. Finally, Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at his best mate. "I'll do it," he said quietly. Remus nodded and they both looked down at the dying man at their feet. Without another word, he shifted his rifle, gently squeezed the trigger, and put a single bullet between Severus Snape's eyes.

Meanwhile, Harry was introducing his girls to his mother. Hermione, still being held tightly by Luna, gave Lily a watery smile, but it was clear her heart was still broken. "It's a pleasure to meet the young ladies who captured my son's heart," Lily said, "though I sincerely wish it was under better circumstances." She gave Hermione an understanding smile. "I know that nothing can replace your parents, but if you need a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen, please let me know, okay?"

The newly-orphaned girl nodded her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Potter," she whispered, still sniffling. "I appreciate that."

Luna extended her hand, but kept her other arm wrapped around Hermione as she snuggled up to the older girl. "It's nice to finally meet you too, Mrs. Potter," she said.

"Please, call me Lily. Both of you," she said.

Harry pulled his girls and his mum into an embrace as they waited for Sirius and Remus to join them. "No matter what, we've got each other," he said, giving all three a kiss. He suddenly looked up. "Someone's coming," he said. He brought his rifle up as Hermione activated her staff and raised the shield and Luna readied her spear.

Lily raised the hood of her cloak. "Don't worry, I'll be in the immediate area," she said as she stepped into a shadow and disappeared. All three teens filed that away to ask her about later.

Sirius and Remus, seeing the kids raise their weapons, readied theirs as well.

Albus Dumbledore stepped around the corner of the house, followed by his Order of the Phoenix, and immediately froze, nonplussed at the sight of five oddly-dressed people, three of whom were pointing odd devises at him. Not really knowing what they were, and not willing to find out in case they were weapons, he slowly began to raise his remaining hand before he recognized Harry. He immediately dropped his hand again.

"I say, Harry, my boy, I almost didn't recognize you without your spectacles," he said in a jovial tone.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" Harry demanded. His rifle did not move an inch.

There was a gasp from behind the old man. "Harry James Potter!" a familiar voice screeched. "How _dare_ you use such language, and directed at your headmaster too! This nonsense has gone far enough! You march yourself right over here, young man! It's past time you learn how to conduct yourself in proper company and put this muggle attitude behind you!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Really, Albus, my old man? You had to bring the Living Howler with you?"

There was an indignant squawk as a somewhat chagrined Dumbledore raised his hand, directing for quiet from the Order. Perhaps Molly Weasley would have been better left behind, but he'd decided that he needed every wand, even hers. True, she had the subtlety of a dragon with a toothache, but she was quite skilled with her wand nonetheless.

"Harry," he said, his voice carefully modulated to present his _disappointed grandfather_ persona, "I really have to agree: this has gone far enough. Surely you can see that this reckless behaviour of yours is endangering your friends? It has already cost Miss Granger her home! How much more suffering must your friends endure before your stubborn pride will be satisfied? Must her parents die too? Must she? What about Miss Lovegood? How many people will you sacrifice for your own selfishness? How many more will you murder?" he finished, gesturing to the corpses on the ground. To his shock and dismay, there were even more than there were in the front yard.

Harry's eyes blazed with cold fury, causing most of the Order to take a step or two back. He dropped his rifle, the sling causing it to swing around to his side, and walked forward, drawing his sword as he went.

Before anyone else could react, Luna summoned the Order's wands with her free hand. All fifteen wands were yanked out of their owners' hands by a force none could withstand, not even Dumbledore. Had he been at his previous level of strength, it was doubtful that the petite blonde could have succeeded against him, but in his weakened state he found his own voice accompanying the cries of dismay as they were summarily disarmed. The entire Order watched in horror as the summoned wands flew like darts toward Luna as if to impale her, only for her to leap aside at the last minute and, in a stunning display of acrobatics and manoeuvrability, whip the razor-sharp spearhead through each and every wand, destroying them all. Angry protestations were cut short with a few well-placed shots from Sirius and Remus into the ground at the Order's feet.

The distraction was all Harry needed. As the Order's collective attention was on their only weapons, the young man closed with the person he deemed the greatest threat. With one smooth movement, the consecrated blade of his sword was pressed against the side of Dumbledore's neck. Though it was not digging in, the blade was sharp enough that a thin trickle of blood was already trailing down the old man's neck. "You fucking hypocrite," he growled. "You sell out my girlfriend's parents to Voldemort by way of your greasy ex-potions master, then have the gall to say it's _my_ fault? Please, give me _one_ good reason why I shouldn't cut your fucking head off right now. Just one."

For the first time in years, decades even, Albus Dumbledore was afraid. The boy was more enraged than he'd seen before, even more so than he was after the first task. He'd already shown that he had no qualms against killing, if the body count in the front yard and back yard were anything to go by, and for all his magical power he knew that Harry could flick his wrist and end his life faster than any spell he could cast or movement he could take. And he did not miss the comment about his _ex-_ potions master, either. For the better part of a century, the old man had gathered and protected his secrets, using his information to nudge here and tweak there, but never divulging any knowledge that he could get away with. It went against his very nature to share his secrets, but unfortunately it seemed that young Harry would not let him go otherwise. "Prophesy," he gasped out. "There is a prophesy about you. It is your destiny to face Voldemort, and it is my duty to ensure that you are prepared."

"Voldemort's dead," Harry said. "Try again."

"What? He's… dead?"

"That's what I said. Hermione was the one that beat him – she shot him up and prevented him from apparating out. I just finished him off, after I made him tell me whose idea it was to attack this house. I'm not at all surprised as to where that trail of questions led, by the way. He revealed Snape, and Snape confirmed that it was you."

Dumbledore started to shake his head, only to stop as he felt his neck slice open just a little bit more. "Ah, Harry, this is exactly why you need my guidance. Voldemort is not dead yet, not truly."

"What do you mean?"

"My boy, the dark lord created devices that anchor his soul to this plane. So long as even one remains he can come back."

"So? And I'm not your boy, old man."

"They all needed to be destroyed, preferably before you killed him. Now that he's a wraith again, we don't know what will happen when they're all destroyed. He could still very well come back and terrorize the land again. Harry, all that could have been avoided if you had just listened to me and followed my counsel."

"Albus, as the bard said, you speak an infinite deal of nothing. There was no wraith. When I took his head, he just died. That was it, end of story. It was nothing like when Quirrell died."

"Harry, I hadn't wanted to say anything because I really didn't want to burden you with it. I wanted you to enjoy your childhood for a time without worrying about the future, but I can see you just will not listen to reason otherwise. You, Harry, are one of those anchors. Or rather, your scar is. In order for Voldemort to be truly defeated, I am afraid that you will have to die."

There were more gasps from behind him as the Order reacted to his words.

Harry, on the other hand, looked quizzical for a moment, then brightened. "Oh, you're talking about that piece of the dark tosser's soul that was embedded in my scar. You needn't worry about that, it's long gone." He brushed the hair off his forehead with his free hand, revealing the unblemished skin there.

It was not often that Dumbledore was caught off guard, but this was certainly one of those times. "What did… how did you… what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't know, really. I just woke up one night feeling like someone was trying to drive a red hot spike through my head. Luna said that it was a piece of the bastard's soul. It burst out of the scar and disintegrated, and the scar healed right up afterwards."

"That was because of the spell I cast on Voldemort right after he was resurrected," Lily said, suddenly appearing out of the shadows. "I learned that he'd made at least one horcrux, and I had a spell that would make sort of a feedback loop between him and his horcrux. It would drive the soul fragment out of whatever container it was in and immediately destroy it."

The blood drained completely from Dumbledore's face. He was only distantly aware of the gasps and horrified shrieks of his people standing behind him. Of all the things he'd planned for, the sudden reappearance of Lily Potter was not one of them. He'd almost forgotten about her entirely, to be perfectly honest, having long been sure that she was well and truly done with the wizarding world. He'd always acknowledged that it was a terrible thing that he'd done, telling her that her infant son was dead when in fact he wasn't, but sometimes the Greater Good demanded such sacrifices.

And now she was back. Worse, she was reunited with Harry. He remembered the young Lily Evans from her school days, as brilliant as Miss Granger was now but with a fiery temper sufficient to cow a Weasley - or a Prewett, for that matter. Despite her Muggleborn heritage, the pureblood bigots in her age group learned early on to steer clear of her and not risk her wrath. As the aged headmaster looked into the brilliant green eyes of his former student, though, he no longer saw the blazing passion that had so impressed many and terrified many others. It had been replaced with cold, dispassionate fury and hate. Whereas her eyes had once promised pain to those who wronged her, they now promised death.

If Dumbledore had felt fear at Harry's gaze before, he now felt terror. Though he had no supporting proof, he was certain that he now knew who was responsible for murdering all the former Death Eaters. He was no longer certain, though, that he himself would survive this night.

"Lily, I…"

"Shut it, Albus. You forfeited the right to ever speak to me again once you lied to me and told me that my son Harry was dead."

Dumbledore winced as he heard horrified gasps from behind him, this time directed at him. That was one secret he really did not want to get out, though he supposed it was inevitable once Lily had made her appearance. There was no telling at this moment how much damage that one sentence had done to his Order, nor could he turn to reassure his people with the boy holding a sword to his neck.

Lily abruptly turned to Harry. "Son, I think we should leave now."

He nodded. "I agree. Go talk to Sirius and we'll get out of here." He muttered a quick incantation and gestured with his free hand, temporarily paralyzing Dumbledore and all the assembled Order members. As one, they were shocked and awed at the casual display of power that Harry exhibited. As his mother walked over to speak with her old friend, Harry sheathed his sword and drew his combat knife, casting an overpowered heating charm on it that turned the blade just to the point where it glowed cherry-red without softening. Without another word, he placed the red-hot tip on the old man's forehead and carved a deep, jagged lightning-bolt sigil in Dumbledore's flesh. Paralyzed as he was, the headmaster couldn't even scream or flinch away from the pain. The mark was deep enough to gouge a furrow in the old man's skull, but the heat of the blade cauterized the flesh immediately so there was hardly any blood flow. When he finished, Harry stepped back and looked at the old man in disdain.

"You effectively kidnapped me when I was an infant," he said quietly. "I just found out that you lied to my mother, convincing her that I was dead. You then left me with people who loathed me for no other reason than that I was different from them, who beat me, who starved me, and made me their slave in all but name. When I told you what it was like, you brushed me off and sent me back to that hellhole every summer. You turned a blind eye to the blatant bigotry, abuse, and bullying at that bloody school of yours, and not just from the students but the fucking _staff_ as well, all the while giving me empty platitudes about how certain staff had your complete trust and that I must learn to forgive. You, who as headmaster are charged with the safety and wellbeing of each and every student who walks the halls of your school, employ certain teachers who are incompetents at best and possessed by the spirit of a homicidal, psychotic madman at worst; allow a colony of _hundreds_ of carnivorous spiders the size of automobiles to grow unchecked less than a mile away from a school filled with, in their eyes, succulent little morsels of flesh; let a sixty-foot snake that can kill with nought but a glance roam the halls of your school rather than shut the school down and effectively deal with the problem; and sit on your hands while our incompetent jackass of a Minister stations a hundred soul-sucking demons at this so-called _safest place in Britain_. Then, when the problems that pop up _every bloody year_ since I've re-joined wizarding society are handled – by _me_ , no less – instead of letting the proper authorities know what's going on, you sweep it all under the rug. And if all that wasn't enough, _this_ year you have the bloody cheek to insist that I participate in that gladiatorial spectacle you call the Triwizard Tournament, knowing full well that I never submitted my name to that fucking cup. When I refused to participate, and rightly so, I might add, you actually stooped so low as to set up my glasses as a portkey, resulting in not just me but my _girlfriend as well_ finding ourselves in that arena with the high risk of both of us getting eaten alive. Then, to top it all off, once you realized that your unwitting pawn has woken up and thrown off the shackles you've placed on him, you do the unthinkable and sell out the Grangers to our biggest enemy. I have no idea why you would ever do such a thing, but I suspect that it is all part of some last-ditch effort to capture me and get me back under your thumb." He narrowed his eyes as he stared daggers at the headmaster. "I could, perhaps, have ignored everything you've done to me," he continued. "Maybe not forgiven, but certainly moved past it. But when you harm the woman I love due solely to your arrogance and short-sighted insistence that _Albus fucking Dumbledore_ knows best… that will never be ignored, never forgotten, and never bloody forgiven."

Harry turned to go, then looked back once more. "Your behaviour, Albus, is certainly not what any sane person would expect from the so-called _Leader of the Light_. At least Voldemort was honest and straightforward about his desire to kill me. Him, self-proclaimed dark lord that he was, at least I could trust. You, not at all. You have done me and mine more harm than he ever did. Titles be damned, _you_ are more of a dark lord than Riddle _ever_ was. Well, he's dead now. I have no more business with you, so long as you stay the hell out of my life. I tell you now, the next time you interfere with my life or any of my loved ones, you're a dead man."

Hermione stared at her former headmaster, a look of pure hatred in her eyes. Without a word, she spat in his face and turned away, following her boyfriend. Only Luna was left, holding her spear casually propped on her shoulder. Her large, silver eyes looked unblinking deep into his own. It was the most uncomfortable he could ever recall being, as if his very soul was laid bare before her for judgment. "Thy sin's not accidental but a trade," she quoted. "You really should study Shakespeare, Headmaster, if you dare. You will find the full scope of humanity within those pages, from the noblest of heroes to the basest of villains. His words cut straight to the heart of issues and people alike. I daresay you will find many characters that your own actions mirror." With those parting words, she turned and followed the others.

A chagrined, helpless, and hurting Albus Dumbledore watched as Harry strode off. The boy – no, he was certainly a man now, no matter what the headmaster would have preferred – joined hands with his mother and his girlfriend, and the three disappeared with a soft _crack_. Sirius disapparated with the Lovegood girl while Remus picked up a large, blanket-wrapped bundle and disappeared after them.

It was less than a minute later when Dumbledore heard the familiar voice of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt behind him. After cancelling the petrification spell, the dark-skinned auror glared at the Leader of the Light. "I hope you realize how bad this looks, Albus," he said as his team secured the area. "I find a house almost burnt to the ground, Death Eater corpses all over the place, and you along with your Order of the Phoenix standing here wandless and petrified. And based on your new… _body art…_ it looks like you ran afoul of someone you ought not to have."

Dumbledore glanced behind him only to see most of his followers looking at him with confused if not outright hostile expressions. He sighed in resignation, finally accepting that his star was beginning to wane if it had not already completely fallen. "I'm not really sure where to begin," he hedged.

"Why don't you tell him how you gave Hermione's parents to You-Know-Who?" Molly Weasley demanded. Though tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks, her voice was like flint and the glare she gave him could strip paint from the walls. She had long been one of Dumbledore's most ardent supporters and had vigorously defended his actions when others questioned him, even when she didn't fully understand his reasoning herself. It was a simple tenant of her faith that Albus Dumbledore was the unquestioned Leader of the Light, was the most powerful wizard since Merlin, and always knew best.

This year had been the cause of much disappointment for her when it came to Harry Potter, especially when he'd broken Ginny's heart so callously by running off with Hermione and the Lovegood girl, and before that with the falling out he'd had with Ron. True, she'd let her temper get the best of her, but while she much preferred the idea of Harry being with her Ginny, and for Hermione to be with Ron – as much as she loved her son, she knew he needed a bright young lady to settle him down and push him to succeed – and couldn't stand the thought that those two had left both her children high and dry, she certainly didn't wish either one of them harm. She had no qualms about chastising them, as she'd proven with her howlers, but giving up family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? That was beyond the pale. With that one revelation, her entire belief structure that was centred on Albus Dumbledore came crashing down.

"Excuse me?" Shacklebolt's voice was incredulous as he fixed Dumbledore with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Mrs. Weasley proceeded to share everything that Harry Potter had accused the headmaster of doing, practically spitting out her words, she was so angry. The old man tried to retain whatever dignity he could muster, but it was increasingly difficult to do so. Even Mundungus Fletcher, the least moral of all his Order, gave him a sheepish look and steadfastly maintained his distance. With Molly Weasley's vociferous condemnation of his actions, he knew in his heart that the Order of the Phoenix was finished for good. He'd already been sacked from his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as well as Britain's representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. It went without saying that as he was no longer the representative to that august body, he could no longer hold the title of Supreme Mugwump either. He'd managed to hold on to his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, but only because of the Triwizard Tournament. He suspected that once the tournament was over he'd likely be sacked from Hogwarts as well. The only thing he could do at this point was to make the tournament a grand, exciting spectacle despite the debacle it had become. With the second task only a few days away, he didn't really have enough time to change anything to make it more memorable and incidentally show himself in the best possible administrative light. Unfortunately, his main focus up until now was getting Harry Potter back under his influence and control, and the tournament preparations had suffered for it.

Senior Auror Shacklebolt shook his head at Molly's tale. "What's your game, Albus?" he growled.

"Everything I have done was for the Greater Good," Dumbledore replied as evenly as he could.

"Just like you lying to Lily Potter's face, telling her that her son Harry was dead and then kidnapping the poor boy," Molly spat.

Shacklebolt's eyebrows went up. "What's this, now?"

"Nothing of consequence," Dumbledore hastily broke in. _Merlin, would that confounded woman hold her bloody tongue?_

The auror scoffed in his face as Mrs. Weasley shrieked in indignation but was interrupted before he could say anything else.

"Hey, boss!" Auror Tonks called from the back yard. "You've gotta come see this!" She and Auror Savage had entered the smoldering house after clearing the back yard and rendezvousing with Senior Auror Robards' team. What they found upstairs left them at a loss for words. Knowing better than to disturb the scene, Tonks ran out of the house and found her commander.

"What's up, Tonks?" he said. He was frankly glad for any excuse to get away from Dumbledore's presence right now, after the upsetting revelations he'd just learned.

"You've gotta see it to believe it. Hell, I saw it and I'm still not sure I believe it."

"Everyone, stay put. Especially you, Albus," he ordered. He followed his junior auror into the house and up the stairs where Savage waited for them both. It took a moment for the scene to register, but his mouth dropped open in astonishment when it all clicked.

The mutilated body, along with the arm and leg lying beside it, could have belonged to almost anyone with a penchant for ragged black robes. The severed head, however, could only belong to one person – though "person" might be too generous a term. Despite having never seen the dark lord before, he knew that the inhuman, reptilian features could only belong to Voldemort.

He couldn't help breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief. There was no mistaking that Voldemort was dead. And based on the actions of the assassin over the past six months, not to mention the corpses of Death Eaters littering the front and backyard of this house, he was willing to entertain the idea that the war had been stopped before it really got going. And if so, that meant that there would be a lot of aurors returning to their homes and families at the ends of their shifts that otherwise wouldn't.

"Any survivors?" he asked.

"No sir. We checked the bodies outside too, but whoever fought the Death Eaters was thorough. Sir… we found some that had been killed from spellfire, but others were killed with a bladed weapon of some kind. There were even some that were killed with muggle guns."

Shacklebolt whistled in appreciation. "Damn. Sounds like someone was taking this bloody war seriously, then."

Tonks nodded her agreement. "It's about bloomin time too, if you ask me," she said. "How do you want to write this up?"

Her superior officer looked around, thinking. "I'll confer with Robards," he said, "but as best as I can tell, this all looks like the Death Eaters attacked the Grangers and set a trap for Harry Potter. Based on the body count, I'd say that trap was reversed. It was probably a rescue mission, but we don't know if it succeeded or not. As all the dead are in full Death Eater regalia or are otherwise known criminals, I will recommend that this be recorded as defensive action with no further investigation on _that_ front required." At Tonks' raised eyebrow, he gave her a smile. "Whoever has done this has inadvertently increased the likelihood that our aurors can reasonably expect to go home after every shift. Why would we want to prosecute them for making our world a little safer, both for civilians and aurors? So long as they don't start a murder spree amongst the regular civilian populace, I'm content to leave them be. I know that vigilantism is not something to encourage, but without Director Bones putting pressure on the Minister, you know as well as I that our hands would be tied in this mess."

"That's for bloody sure."

"Have you found the Grangers yet?"

"No. They could have been lying on the bed – there's indentations on the cover like two people could have been there, but I'm not seeing much else."

The senior auror sighed. "Now I've got another bloody mess to clean up," he said, "and the investigation that I feel _is_ required. Molly Weasley accused Dumbledore of selling the Grangers out to Voldemort, lying to Lily Potter by telling her that Harry was dead, and then kidnapping the boy. That implies that she's still alive. Something stinks about this, and I'm more and more convinced that Dumbledore is in it up to his eyeballs."

Tonks frowned. "Lily Potter is still alive? And isn't Molly one of Dumbledore's biggest supporters?"

"I always thought so. Something must have really set her off if she's turned against him. Tonks, I must say that I've been pleased so far on how you've handled yourself, and rest assured that will be going in my report as well. I want you to put a detail together and portkey the bodies to the Department of Mysteries, where the Unspeakables will process them and either release the bodies to their families or toss them through the Veil. I suspect they will be most eager to get their hands on what's left of Voldemort. In the meantime, I will be supervising the interrogations of Dumbledore and his Order back at headquarters."

The pink-haired auror stood straighter at her supervisor's praise. "Yessir!" she saluted. "You can count on me."

Shacklebolt returned her salute and turned to go down the stairs. Despite Albus Dumbledore's troubles this year, the old man was still revered in many circles. With as much political sway and as many positions as he had held, a public scandal of this magnitude with him at its epicentre would send shockwaves throughout the wizarding world, especially if it resulted in his complete fall from grace. The senior auror had a feeling in his bones that the results of his investigation could easily shake magical Britain to its very core and change its face forever.


	15. Final Preparations

Sirius and Remus were both concerned with the redheaded woman sitting uncomfortably in the threadbare Renaissance revival style armchair in the Black townhouse living room. They were both overwhelmed at seeing a dear friend whom they had thought long dead sitting alive and well before them, but there was a darkness to her that had not been there before. The black shadowlike stuff on her hands and in her eyes was obvious, but there was also a sense of rage and vengeance lurking beneath the surface that was new. But damned if either one of them knew how to address it.

Harry sat on a matching sofa opposite his mother, flanked by Hermione on his right and Luna on his left. The girls held his hands as Lily shared the story of her life after Voldemort and Dumbledore tore their family apart. She left nothing out, including her theft and usage of the Necronomicon. That revelation answered a lot of her two old friends' unspoken questions but gave them no insight on how to help her recover.

When asked, she produced the book but would not let anyone else handle it. "This book corrupts," she explained. "I am already tainted; I cannot let any of you become so." The ancient manuscript was covered in a strange, pale leather that Hermione really did not want to think too deeply as to what kind it was. The leather, stamped with strange, occult symbols, was stretched over thin sheets of wood that were fastened with brass hinges to form the cover. A clasp and a lock sealed it shut from the casual reader's eyes. It seemed to radiate malevolence and darkness to the point that the lamps in the room seemed to dim. There wasn't a person in the room besides Lily herself who didn't shiver with dread as she brought it out.

"Why not destroy it?" Luna suggested.

Lily's eerie black and green eyes gave her a penetrating gaze. "Why not indeed," she murmured. Without another word, she stood and walked over to the large fireplace. She held the cursed tome in both hands for a moment before tossing it on the flames. As she did so, an angry shriek emanated from the book, followed by a rushing wind that extinguished the fire. The book lay unharmed on a blackened log in the fireplace. Reluctantly, Lily picked it back up. "I guess that's not the way to do it," she said.

"We need to go see Grandmum," the blonde Ravenclaw rejoined. "She'll want to know that we've completed the job. Maybe she'll know what to do with the book." She gave her friend's mother a steady look. "I can tell that you've been damaged to your very soul, Lily. You needn't worry though – Grandmum will certainly know how you can be healed."

"Thank you, Luna," Lily said as she took her seat again. "How soon can we see her?"

"We can go tomorrow. I know she'll be eager to see us."

Sirius got to his feet. "If that's the case, then, perhaps it would behove us to retire for the rest of the night, excuse me, morning." Everyone agreed, and he showed Lily upstairs to an unused bedroom on the second floor that Kreacher had prepared for her upon their arrival a short time ago.

Harry was just about to climb into his bed when there came a gentle knocking at his bedroom door. He opened it to see his girlfriend on the other side, already wearing her nightgown, with tears running down her cheeks. Without a word, he took her in his arms and held her close. She held him tightly as she wept into his chest.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" she whispered between sobs. "I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Of course, my love," he said, stroking her hair. "I'm here for you, now and always."

He led her inside the bedroom, closing the door behind them, and pulled the sheets back on his bed. He helped her up and tucked her in before extinguishing the light and joining her on the other side. She immediately rolled over to face him, and he pulled her close.

"I love you, Mione," he whispered.

"I love you too, my Harry," she whispered back.

He brushed her hair back from her tear-stained face and she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. He returned her kiss just as fervently, and his arms tightened around her body as he held her safe and sound. It wasn't long before Hermione's kisses became more forceful, more needful. Their eyes had adjusted to the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, and Harry watched in wonder as his beautiful girlfriend sat up and slipped out of her nightgown, exposing her lithe body to him.

"I need you, my love," she said, a hitch in her voice.

He gave her a gentle, loving smile as he reached up and caressed her cheek.

After a night of fire and death, of betrayal and manipulation, the two young people found comfort in each other's arms. For a brief moment in time the pain and suffering of the outside world was held at bay as they reaffirmed their love and devotion for the other and became one.

***DIM***

If anyone noticed the shy smiles that Harry and Hermione gave each other the next morning during a late breakfast, no one said anything – although if the two had paid attention, they might have seen Luna's mouth quirk up in a faint, knowing smile of her own. Instead, the conversation revolved around their plan to travel to the Rookery that afternoon and meet with Luna's grandmother. The three adults were all intrigued to know that her grandmother was Titania, the Queen of the Faeries, though Lily was understandably nervous when she learned the nature and reasoning of the quest Titania had given her son and his ladies.

And so it was that they all found themselves following Luna that afternoon as she skipped down the hill behind her odd-looking home, through flora that even the magical-raised among them considered strange and mysterious. They crossed the stepping stones across the pond to the island in the middle, and all joined hands with Luna in the middle as they stepped into the megalithic circle.

As the Otherworld faded into view, Sirius felt a peace and freedom that he had not experienced since the days he had lived at Potter Manor after abandoning his sick and twisted family as a young man not much older than Harry was now. Despite being officially exonerated, he still suffered nightmares from his time in Azkaban, and the prison, though long destroyed, had left an indelible imprint upon him. Here, though, was a world where no one was hunting him or framing him, where the threat of the dementors' chill touch could never reach. This was a refuge that far surpassed the one on Black Island, where he'd spent the previous summer and autumn.

Remus was similarly affected, though the atmosphere went beyond the surface and touched the wolf deep inside. He could feel more integrated with the wolf, yet it did not control him. Here, it was simply a part of who he was. No longer did it fight to break free and lay waste to everything in the surrounding area.

Lily Potter had no recollection of this place, yet at the same time it seemed oddly familiar. There was something about this world that made her blood sing. Even the taint her body carried from the study of forbidden lore seemed muted. Looking at her hands, she was surprised to see that the inky blackness that covered them was now a dusty grey instead.

The two young Gryffindors both felt like they had returned home. The keen sorrow that they both felt for the loss of Hermione's parents faded to a bittersweet ache as they were reminded of the wonderful times of loving, familial acceptance that the Grangers had extended to not only Harry, but their relationship as well.

As usual, Luna charged over as soon as she saw her grandmother and leapt into the queen's arms. "Grandmum!" she happily greeted.

"Welcome, Isilmë," the queen replied with a smile. "And welcome back to you, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger." She walked over to join them, one arm wrapped around her granddaughter. Stopping in front of Hermione, she opened her arms and embraced the grieving witch. "My deepest condolences, Hermione," she said. "We all mourn the tragic loss of your parents with you, and I personally offer you sanctuary here in my realm. Should you accept, there is a place here where you may lay your parents to rest, a place where the snow and ice of winter will never touch them, nor will they ever be disturbed by the forces of darkness or those seeking to use you for their own ends."

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes as she felt the love and sincerity of Titania's offer sweep through her. "Thank you," she whispered. "I can't tell you what that means to me."

The queen turned to Harry. "As she is your intended, Harry, and also to reward the efforts you all endured on our behalf, my offer of sanctuary is extended to you as well."

The young man bowed respectfully. "Thank you, your majesty," he said.

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin," Titania continued. "You and others have endeavoured to train and equip these young ones to the best of your abilities, and for that you also have our thanks. You will always be welcome here in my realm."

The queen finally stood before Harry's mother, who stood behind the others, nervously shuffling her feet. "Lily Potter," she said, her voice gentle and non-judgmental. "You carry a darkness within you, one which cannot long be tolerated in these woods. I can rid you of it, though, if you are willing."

The haunted woman looked up at the queen, black and emerald eyes meeting sapphire blue. Tears flowed down her cheeks from the writhing shadows that distorted her features. "I am willing," she whispered.

A suspicion tugged at the Faerie Queen's mind as she caught sight of Lily's brilliant green eyes for the first time. The shadows that splayed and twisted across her face cast a measure of doubt, so for the moment Titania set her suspicions aside. Calling forth the magic innate to her kind, the queen cupped Lily's face in her long, slender fingers, leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead.

Lily gasped as a sharp yet soothing chill cascaded down her body, as if she were standing under a waterfall of the purest mountain spring water. Clouds of inky black shadow poured forth from her eyes, hands, and even from inside her boots. After a few moments, the clouds dissipated in the air and she looked at her normal, pink hands in wonder. She looked up again at Titania, awe written across her face. "Thank you," she said. "I always thought the taint would be permanent, but so long as my husband and my son were avenged I didn't care."

Titania smiled, though her expression was troubled. "You have a second chance at life now, one with the son you thought you'd lost. Take care not to squander it." She gave the red-headed woman a thoughtful look for a long moment. "I beg your pardon," she said at length. "I need to consult with someone and have a question answered. Until then, feel free to relax and make yourselves at home. I shall return anon."

As the queen turned and left the circle of standing stones, Harry walked over and embraced his mother. "Welcome back, Mum," he said.

Luna led everyone to a clearing nearby between the roots of one of the massive golden-leafed trees. Small mounds covered with soft, springy grass provided comfortable seating, and a trickle of crystal-clear water spilled over one of the roots into a stone basin, giving them pure, clean water to drink. The six stretched out on the grass and took their ease, speaking little of consequence as they waited for Titania to return. Hermione alone did not join the conversations, preferring instead to sit tucked into her boyfriend's side with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

When the queen returned, she was accompanied by a stately woman with dark red hair of a similar shade to Lily Potter's and blazing green eyes that were a match to both Lily's and Harry's. Titania led the newcomer to Lily and bid her to stand. "Look upon her, Maeve, and tell me she is not your child," the queen challenged.

The woman called Maeve studied Lily's face, and her stern countenance melted. Her shoulders slumped as she spoke in a defeated voice. "I cannot," she said.

The witches and wizards looked at each other in confusion as a flash of anger passed across Titania's face. "And how is it, then, that this is the first I have heard of the matter?"

The other woman sighed. "I was the sole witness to a true prophesy, sister. It was spoken in my presence by Khidri Aende."

Titania reluctantly nodded her agreement. "If you had said any other name, I would have had you struck down where you stand," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

"Had it been any other, I would have killed the speaker on the spot," Maeve retorted. "The treaty is the only thing up until now that has kept the peace between your people and mine. Do not think for a moment that I would violate it on a whim, especially as it involved me giving up one of my daughters." She looked back at Lily, who now wore an expression of panic upon her face.

"Who… who are you?" Lily stammered.

The other woman's expression softened. "I am the Lady Maeve, queen of the Unseelie Court and sister of Titania, queen of the Seelie. You are my youngest daughter Lunerri, and a changeling." Three gasps of surprise could be heard from the directions of Luna, Hermione, and Remus as Lady Maeve continued. "The prophesy indicated that the fate of our realms here in the Otherworld, as well as the Prime from whence you six come, hung in the balance; otherwise I would never have abandoned you to the human world. The family I left you with had lost their youngest daughter during the night and so I left you in their care with them none the wiser."

Seeing the utterly lost look on his mother's face, Harry stood and gave her a hug. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione got to her feet and joined them.

"A changeling?" Sirius asked. "Is that like a metamorphmagus?"

"Not at all," Remus told him. "It's when a child of the fae is swapped for a human child, just like what Lady Maeve said happened with Lily."

"And now that you've returned, my daughter," Maeve said, "the second part of the prophesy is nigh. The two nations of the fae will be reunited in the face of a common enemy, one that threatens our entire existence."

Titania gazed at her sister, an incredulous look on her face. "What are you saying?" she inquired.

"Khidri Aende has seen the _yáramo_ Nyarlathotep on the move," Maeve replied.

"The Crawling Chaos," her sister breathed, the capital letters of the name obvious in her voice. A sense of dread travelled up everyone's spine, even those who had never before heard that foul name. "Truly?"

Lily blanched. "That name was in the Necronomicon," she confessed.

"And you invoked it while holding that book, my daughter," her mother replied. There was no condemnation in her voice, merely an observation of what happened.

"Yes." Lily's reply was barely audible.

"I felt an overwhelming need last night to destroy the book," Luna broke in. "Lily tossed it in the fire, but it actually put the fire out before it could be damaged."

The two queens traded looks, then Maeve nodded. "We will help," she said. "I will submit my forces to your command for this endeavour, and mayhap we will learn to share our differences of opinion without resorting to bloodshed. I grow weary of the battle, sister."

Queen Titania gave her sister a long, searching gaze before nodding her head in agreement. "Thank you," she replied. "I too grow tired of our struggle, and I long for the days where we once stood side by side against the darkness. Now, perhaps, we may enjoy those days once more." She turned to face her granddaughter. "The world would certainly be much better off if that foul book were to be destroyed, but there is a problem. There are four more complete copies of it scattered around the world, plus several incomplete copies. The latter are not so much of a concern, as they were not ritually created and do not have the dark power of the complete copies. The one you have and the other four like it, as they were ritually made so too must they be ritually unmade. They must all be destroyed at the same time, for such a deed will surely draw Nyarlathotep. Better to face him once than five times, if he must be faced at all."

Once the other four books were collected, the ritual would require both queens, together channelling the full power of the fae, both dark and light sides. As Lily had possession of one of the copies of the Necronomicon, she would also be required to participate in the ritual, incidentally providing the all-important third source of power. The ritual would have to be performed in the Prime, for neither queen was willing to risk the safety of the Otherworld.

"It will have to be a place of power, though," Maeve said.

"There are several places in Britain that have an unusually high convergence of ley lines," Titania replied. "Most of them, though, such as Glastonbury, Stonehenge, or Hogwarts, are too heavily populated or visited. I know of one location, though, that does not see as many visitors. There is a city in Wiltshire called Swindon, and just southeast of the city lies the remains of an ancient fortification known as Liddington Castle. Not much is left there but a ring of earthworks, but that location is one of the highest concentrations of ley lines in the islands."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's supposed to be one of the possible locations of the battle of Badon Hill," she said.

Titania smiled. "That _was_ the location of the battle," she said. "It was there that Arthur and his knights, along with Merlin and my daughter Nimue, halted the Saxon invasion and from there drove the invaders from Britain's shores."

"That is an appropriate location indeed, sister," Maeve said. "It may be that from there we will halt the incursion of the _yáramo_ once more. At the very least we will eliminate some of the most dangerous knowledge concerning them."

"The vernal equinox will be upon us in a few short weeks," Titania went on. "It is a time of balance, a time of confrontation between the forces of light and of dark. The magic of the land will be tilted in our favour on that day. It is then that we will perform the ritual. In the meantime, you must prepare. It is imperative that you collect the other four complete copies of the Necronomicon. If you can collect any of the partial manuscripts as well it would certainly be welcome, but if we don't have all five complete copies we may as well not do the ritual at all."

***DIM***

The next few weeks passed rather quickly. The day after they had spoken with Titania and Maeve, they returned to Otherworld, this time respectfully bearing the stasis-held bodies of Daniel and Emma Granger. Hermione gratefully accepted Titania's offer to lay her parents to rest in the faerie realm, sensing a peace there that would never be possible in the human world, magical or otherwise.

Titania welcomed them all warmly and led them to the grassy hill where she had talked with the three teens six months ago. Leading them through the two rings of trees around the crest of the hill, the outer ring of white, leafless trees and the inner ring of silver, gold-leafed trees, she brought them to a clear area on the western face of the hill. "Lay them on the ground here," she said. "Here they will lie, facing always to the west and the undying lands across the sea."

Harry and Luna held Hermione in their arms as Sirius and Remus arranged the Grangers according to Titania's instructions. They looked peaceful in their repose, almost as if they were merely asleep in a bed of white and golden flowers. Tears slid down their daughter's cheeks as she bid her parents one last farewell. The two men stepped back when they were finished, and Titania lifted her voice in a prayer of her people, in her native tongue. Once she was finished, the grass on the hill grew and covered the two bodies, forming two green mounds lying side by side.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. "This is a truly beautiful spot. I think they would like it here."

"You are most welcome, child." The queen pulled all three teens in a close embrace. "Remember, you are welcome at any time. You have accomplished much and lost much in my service, and we will never forget or turn you away."

As they turned, Hermione looked back once more at the resting place of her parents. The green mounds stood out amongst the flowers that covered the hill, and the significance of the lone green mound in the centre of the hill was not lost upon her. "Titania," she asked, "if I may ask, who is buried at the top of the hill?"

The queen gave her a sad smile. "That is the resting place of the last of the high elves to grace our shores," she said. "She loved a human, one of the last of the great kings of this realm, and elected to stay here with him and live a mortal life rather than pass on to the undying lands with the rest of her people. This hill with her green barrow upon it is a tribute to the love they shared, a love that death itself could not conquer." She gently caressed the brunette witch's cheek. "Your parents are in the very best of company, Hermione."

After they returned from interring the Grangers, Lily Potter immediately set out to collect the other four copies of the wicked tome, in accordance with the directions she received from her mother and her aunt, the two fae queens. Remus Lupin travelled with her, as he had more experience in the mundane world than Sirius did, but Lily insisted that no one handle the books but her. They started with the copy farthest from the shores of Britain, found in the Archivo Histórico at the Universidad de Buenos Aires in Argentina. A disillusionment spell followed by a shadowjump took her into the archives, and Hermione's modified point-me charm led her straight to the book. It was in her possession and she was out of the archives scant minutes later. From there they travelled to Lily's adopted home of Boston, Massachusetts. Across the Charles River from South Boston, in the heart of Cambridge, they made their way to the Widener Library at Harvard. One of the premier research libraries in the world in the fields of humanities and social sciences, the Widener Library boasted over a million resources in over a hundred languages from all over the world. Her spells were invaluable in finding the volume amidst the multitude of other books, and once it was in her grasp they again left with none the wiser. While in Massachusetts, they stopped back at Miskatonic University, where they collected two of the handwritten incomplete copies of the Necronomicon. Their next stop was in Paris, France, where they found the next copy in the Archives et Manuscrits of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. The most daunting search to date, the French library contained over ten million books and manuscripts covering all kinds of subjects. Their final stop was in London, where they found the last full copy in the Anthropology Library and Research Centre of the British Museum. Their journey had taken the better part of a week, and the two arrived back at Grimmauld Place exhausted but triumphant.

Meanwhile, Sirius kept the three teens on a toned-down training regimen, just enough so that they wouldn't go soft. Hermione was heartbroken at the murder of her parents, but with the constant love and support of primarily Harry and Luna she was starting to cope. Sirius, too, helped in his own way, as did Andy Tonks when she came by for their lessons. Spending each night in the arms of her boyfriend ultimately helped more than anything else, especially when Luna would occasionally join them and snuggle in on her other side. The blonde Ravenclaw always seemed to know when they planned on only sleeping and would inevitably join them on those nights.

A few days after the horrible night that Hermione lost her parents, it was announced by the Ministry that Voldemort had been defeated for good. A lengthy press conference, hosted by Madam Bones with Minister Fudge's approval, shared almost everything that the DMLE and the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries had been able to learn about Voldemort's resurrection and subsequent defeat. Without going into detail regarding the self-proclaimed dark lord's method of surviving his first brush with death, the DoM explained that Voldemort had in fact been reduced to an undead wraith, capable of possessing the weak or unwary. The body they had recovered from the burning house of an unnamed muggleborn Hogwarts student was nothing more than a homunculus, a magical construct that was possessed by Voldemort's wraith and then ritually sealed and enhanced by dark, necromantic means.

According to the DMLE investigation, Voldemort and three dozen of his Death Eaters were slain at Crawley by party or parties unknown with no apparent survivors. The presence of Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix was not mentioned at this time, nor would the DMLE offer any conjecture as to the identity of the unknown vigilantes. Questions from the press asking of the presence of Harry Potter or the mysterious assassin with a vendetta against Death Eaters were answered verbatim: "The DMLE can neither confirm nor deny any rumours regarding the presence of the same."

Less than a week later, they learned that Albus Dumbledore had been arrested and was awaiting trial. Apparently the second task of the Triwizard Tournament had ended in a disaster that threatened to strain international relations between magical Britain and magical France. During that task, the champions had been required to rescue hostages chosen for them, though the only clue that had been given to them up to the morning of the task was that something they would "sorely miss" had been taken, and that they would have no more than an hour to find it. It wasn't until they had assembled for the task itself that they learned that they would have to rescue hostages from the merfolk village under Black Lake.

Less than half an hour into the task, Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion, floated to the surface in a cloud of bloody water. Barely conscious and bleeding from multiple wounds, she nevertheless tried to dive back in and continue her task. Fortunately for her, the sharp eyes of a rescue team spotted her and were able to pull her into the boat before she drowned. Before she passed out from blood loss, she tried once more to jump back in the lake, weakly crying out the name "Gabrielle," but she was restrained by her rescuers.

The real problem surfaced when Cedric Diggory returned to the starting platform with his girlfriend, Cho Chang, and the lifeless body of a young blonde-haired girl of about eight or nine. The Hogwarts champion was in tears as he explained that whatever spells that had been on the other two hostages to keep them safe underwater had worn off the young girl before he'd even gotten there. Seeing the girl floating there, eyes and mouth open and frozen forever in the panic she'd experienced before drowning, he didn't have the heart to leave her there and so had cut her loose from her tether as well.

It was revealed in the follow-up investigation that the Delacour sisters were both part veela, which had not been accounted for in the preparations for the task. As veela were creatures of air and fire, they would be at a severe handicap in an aquatic environment. Fleur had in fact been attacked by grindylows on her way to the merfolk village, and the little water demons, recognizing her as their elemental enemy, attacked her with much more ferocity than they typically attacked people. While the French witch survived the attack, she wound up losing two fingers on her left hand to a grindylow's razor-sharp teeth.

Her sister Gabrielle, though, was not as fortunate. Those with veela blood, even as diluted as the Delacour girls, still had an inborn resistance to spells cast upon them. It was a testament to Dumbledore's hubris, as he had been the one to cast the protective spells on the hostages, that he did not account for the fact that his current power was only a fraction of what he had been capable of as the wielder of the Elder Wand. Combined with the poor girl's natural resistance to his magic, the protective spells wore off her much faster than they did from the other two hostages.

As Dumbledore had been solely responsible for collecting suitable hostages and ensuring their safety, he was being held liable. It did not help his situation at all when it was revealed that he had not sought permission from the girls' parents to use their youngest as a hostage. Nor did it help when it was revealed that Monsieur Delacour was a senior auror with the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Harry shook his head sadly when he heard the story. He remembered the pretty French champion well enough, though he'd never really spoken to her, and she seemed like a nice enough person if somewhat distant. She was reportedly devastated by the loss of her sister and near-overwhelmed with survivor's guilt. The knowledge that her sister would have already been dead before she even dove in the water did little to help her state. "Why didn't I take that old bastard's head when I had the chance?" he lamented.

"Because you're not a murderer," his girlfriend replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "It's not your fault any more than it's Fleur's. Blame Dumbledore, and hope that justice prevails."

***DIM***

The naval barricade around the island of R'lyeh in the South Pacific had been a resounding success. The eleven surface ships of the strike group were deployed all around the island, with the submarine following a regular circuit around it underwater. The _Kitty Hawk_ took a position on the western side of the island and kept flight operations going around the clock. An E-2C Hawkeye was in the air at any given time, helping coordinate the nonstop flight ops.

Several small craft had been intercepted and turned away, with only two needing to be destroyed. The most recent of the craft that were turned back was a fishing boat out of Bahía Mansa, a small town on the west coast of Chile's Osorno Province. Unknown to the Americans, though, this was the vessel's second attempt to reach the island, and as the boat turned away a single man slipped over the side into the frigid water wearing a wetsuit and an old Russian IDA-71 rebreather. He detached a Protei-5 diver propulsion vehicle from where it was clamped to the hull of the boat underneath the waterline and sped underwater toward the mysterious island, unobserved by the U.S. Navy. The DPV sped unerringly past the blockade, delivering its passenger to the cursed shores of that twisted, nightmarish city.

The diver removed his fins and dropped the rebreathing apparatus, revealing a crazed, feral gleam in his eyes. He clambered over the rough gargantuan stones, slick with rain and algae, oblivious to the impossible angles and curves that seemed almost to reverse themselves even as one looked upon them. In short order his bare feet left bloody footprints behind him as he climbed a causeway that until recently had not seen the light of day in almost sixty years.

At long last he reached the pinnacle of the island-city but did not pause to look at the unbearable geometry of the constructions laid out before him. A great door was set into the spire, but it seemed impossible to determine whether it was a flat, horizontal door or an angled door, such as one might find leading down into a cellar from outside the house it was attached to. Engraved on the door was a massive relief carving of a corpulent monster that had traits of a squid as well as traits of a dragon.

The diver, recognizing his goal, gibbered with delight as he capered around. Leaping up onto the door – or was it a gate? – he crossed the carved figure to the opposite end. Carefully balanced upon a fulcrum of some kind, the door started tilting inside as he crossed the midpoint – yet somehow it was tilting in _diagonally_ , despite the pivot points seeming to form a horizontal line at the door's midpoint. As he felt the slab move down, the diver began to laugh maniacally. A moment later he slid down the rest of the way and was swallowed up by the dark chamber behind the gate.

A squelching gurgle accompanied by a few sharp snaps echoed from the darkness, and a flabby grey hand larger than a lorry appeared on the edge of the platform and pulled it down even further. A moment later a grey, hairless form oozed its way out from the gateway, beady red eyes glaring around it in unquenchable hate. The figure stepped out of its huge sarcophagus and stretched its arms, legs, and wings before bellowing a terrifying, unmistakable call to the stormy sky overhead.

The Great Cthulhu walked again, and the earth itself trembled.


	16. Making the Stand

Shortly before 2.00 in the morning of Tuesday, 21 March 1995, the ritual began. The exact moment of the vernal equinox was scheduled to occur at 2.14 local time, and the ritual was set to reach its crux point at that same moment. Just a couple of miles to the northwest, the lights of the sleeping town of Swindon glowed orange against the night sky. The glare of lights, combined with the illumination of the waning gibbous moon, drowned out all but the brightest stars. Remus Lupin was almost completely recovered from the ordeal of the full moon he'd suffered just a few nights before. The Marauders, accompanied by Lily and the teens, had scouted out the Iron Age hilltop fortress known as Liddington Castle earlier the previous afternoon. No one was visiting the earthworks as they reconnoitred, but they nonetheless cast a series of discreet notice-me-not charms around the summit of the hill to hide their preparations from all prying eyes. Despite the proximity of Swindon, the hill was surrounded on all sides by farmland. The fortress commanded a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside, especially to the north and the west sides, and it was easy to see why this had been such a contested spot of land in the days of Arthur.

After the charms had been cast, Harry sent a messenger patronus to Queen Titania letting her know that they had secured the hilltop. It wasn't long before she and her sister Maeve arrived, along with their personal guards. The two fae rulers quickly identified the locations of the ley lines and began to lay out the ritual circle while the others stood watch. As evening drew near, Lily apparated the teens back to Grimmauld Place, where they all got some food and geared up with their full battle kit.

Once he changed into his black military-style fatigues, Harry went to check on his girlfriend and found her in her bedroom holding a familiar wand with a pensive expression on her face. She tensed for a moment as she felt his arms slide around her waist before leaning back into his embrace.

"What's up?" he asked her.

She held up the wand. "This wand has been used for unspeakable evil," she said. "And yet, I can feel that it would serve me quite well. Not as well as my original wand, perhaps, but still a better-than-average match."

"It's because you defeated him," he replied. "Wands tend to do that somewhat, you know."

"Even though I didn't use magic?"

He shrugged. "I don't know that it really matters," he said. "I suspect that wands have some sort of rudimentary awareness to them. You remember how Ollivander was always talking about how the wand chooses the witch or wizard, not the other way around? It wouldn't surprise me if it somehow could sense that you defeated Riddle and now recognizes you as the superior magic-user and worthy of its allegiance. If nothing else, it'll make a good backup wand."

"You won't mind me using the wand that… that killed your dad?"

He smiled at her. "It was Riddle that killed my dad. The wand was just a tool. Besides, imagine how much it'll piss him off that his wand is now being used by a filthy mudblood, and a woman at that – the same one that took him down using _muggle_ methods, not magic. And there's not a single bloody thing he can do about it. My god, it's the best prank on the tosser that anyone could play!"

A faint smile played across her lips for a moment as she nodded. Taking his hand, she went with him to the armoury where she grabbed a second wand holster and attached it to her left forearm. After sliding Riddle's wand into the holster, she pulled the rest of her kit, including her rifle and pistol, and finished gearing up with the others.

Once they returned to Liddington Castle, Sirius and Remus returned to Grimmauld Place while the others stood watch. The forces of the fae increased in number as darkness fell, the combination of night and notice-me-not charms serving to hide their numbers from view. The teens stared at the newcomers in awe as they saw people they had only ever read about.

Suspecting that trouble would likely find them as they enacted the arcane ritual this night, Titania and her husband Oberon brought several legions of their fiercest warriors. Most of them were wood elves, cousins to the long-departed high elves, but there were also several divisions of dwarven warriors as well. The teens well remembered the disastrous Valentine's Day fiasco courtesy of Gilderoy Lockhart and his cupid-attired singing dwarves. Anyone with a lick of sense could have seen that those poor dwarves had been as embarrassed at the entire situation as any of the recipients of the singing Valentines had been. Here, though, the assembled warriors were resplendent in heavy armour and weapons the teens had no hope whatsoever of even lifting. _These_ were dwarves in their proper attire, in their proper place, and the effect was nothing short of stunning. There were also several dozen dryads, nymphs, and satyrs overseeing the construction of defensive positions and wards, as well as countless faeries flitting back and forth carrying messages between commanders. Luna even pointed out two ents – giant tree-herders, barely distinguishable from trees themselves – moving amongst the thin treelines growing alongside the Ridgeway and between the fields, awakening the dormant plants and preparing them for the possibility of battle.

The forces Queen Maeve brought were more terrifying in appearance but no less awe-inspiring. The bulk of the Unseelie forces consisted of savage, twisted-looking creatures that she called orcs. Where the wood elves wore ornately tailored leather armour and the dwarves had finely-wrought plate armour, no two designs exactly alike, the orcs wore crudely-forged iron plate – rough, brutal, and utilitarian. Their weapons matched their armour perfectly. Maeve also fielded several legions of dark elves, also cousins of the high elves. Their armour and weapons were as finely crafted as that of the wood elves, but whereas their cousins from the woodlands favoured browns, tans, and greens, the dark elves tended toward black, silver, indigo, and deep violets. Every bit as regal in bearing as their cousins, there was a cold aloofness that the wood elves did not possess. There was also myriad dark faerie flying around between the orc and dark elf commanders and the Unseelie High Command, led by Maeve's consort Herne the Hunter. The tall, imposing man wore rough leather armour and a helm fashioned from the skull of a stag, complete with broad antlers. He led a score of hunters astride nightmares, terrifying black horses with burning red eyes and flaming manes, tails, and feet. Several animal handlers walked beside him with his pack of hellhounds tethered on black chains.

As Harry watched the forces assembling, he was struck with a sudden inspiration. There were still several hours to go before the ritual was to begin, which meant that he still had time. Approaching the others, he called for them to gather around. "I need to leave for a few hours," he said. "If we're going to be fighting tonight, I'd like to have as much of an advantage as possible, and I just remembered that I might know someone who could make a huge difference. I just need to go find her."

Luna smiled. "Sparkledust can take us," she said. "She knows right where to go. You can't ride her, I'm afraid, but she will let you and Hermione hold on to her mane."

Hermione smiled and took Harry's arm, as if to say that there was no way in hell he'd leave her behind. Looking at the determined look on her face, he didn't even try to protest.

The adults looked at each other, questioning expressions on all faces. Sirius shrugged when all gazes turned to him. "They'll all be together, and we've seen that they can hold their own. I don't have a problem with them leaving."

At Luna's shrill whistle, Kaisa appeared in their midst, and the blonde Ravenclaw clapped her hands excitedly. Herne gave the girl an amused look as he saw the glamour the unicorn wore that caused her to appear like his nightmares. "It frightens nargles away," she explained to him as she mounted her steed. "It also paralyzes wrackspurts, which causes the people they infest to freeze up."

The imposing warrior chuckled as Harry and Hermione reached up and gently grasped the unicorn's mane. Though the glamour made it appear that they were both holding living flame, they could feel the reality of Kaisa's silky natural mane instead. A moment later Kaisa faded away, taking the three teens with her.

The unicorn reappeared at the edge of a large clearing in a dark wood. A dull red light from within revealed the large entry to a cave on the other side of the clearing. Harry smirked and gave Kaisa an affectionate rub behind her ears. "Knows right where to go, indeed," he laughed.

He slowly approached the cave, arms spread wide. _"Emberstryke?"_ he called out in parseltongue.

A few minutes passed before a low rumbling was heard and a colossal shadow blocked most of the red glow coming from within the cave. _"Harry Potter,"_ the familiar voice of the dragon he'd met at the first task responded. _"How are you, my friend?"_

" _I am well,"_ he replied. _"I have a boon I would ask of you, should you be willing."_

The dragon gave him an even look, her large eyes glittering in the moonlight. _"You set me free, along with my children,"_ she said. _"Unlike most of the wizards I have had the misfortune to encounter, you are a man of honour. I may be willing to grant you the aid you seek."_

" _Thank you. All I ask is that you hear me out and then decide whether to help us or not. Please do not feel obligated on my behalf – if you are not willing then we will certainly be no worse off than before. But if you are, you would be a powerful ally."_

He went on to explain everything that had taken place since the first task, finishing with the build-up of their forces this evening at Liddington Castle. After a few minutes of deliberation, Emberstryke returned briefly to her lair to ensure that her eggs were sufficiently warm and protected. Once she returned to the clearing, she extended her foreleg, allowing Harry and Hermione to climb up on her back. Luna gave her two best friends a jaunty salute before Kaisa faded away to take her back to Liddington Castle.

Harry settled down on Emberstryke's back between two ridges that she suggested, and his nervous girlfriend sat in front of him. With the dragon's permission, they cast a couple of sticking charms on themselves so that they would remain secure on her back. Hermione also cast a shield charm in front of them at an angle so that the inevitable wind from their flight would pass over them, while Harry added a couple of warming charms. As fast as the dragon would be able to fly, it would still take them several hours to fly from northern Scotland to southern England.

***DIM***

As midnight approached, dried fruit and meat was passed around, along with water. The site for the ritual circle had been cleared and prepared, and Titania, Maeve, and Lily Potter went over the procedures and incantations of the rite yet again. Sirius and Remus stood nearby with Luna, chatting in low voices as they watched the surrounding countryside. As it was late Monday night, the local people were mostly in bed already as they likely had work the next day, but occasionally a pair of headlights could be seen on a random automobile winding its way down one of the roads that crisscrossed the rolling hills. Every so often, a set of those headlights even moved down the Ridgeway, the narrow, paved road at the northwest base of the hill on which sat the earthworks where they were now entrenched. The fae-folk were adept at hiding themselves from magical eyes, let alone nonmagical, and so the late-night drivers passed by Liddington Castle unaware of the forces amassing not five hundred feet away.

Shortly before 2.00, all lights, both magical and mundane, were doused. The three women began the opening chants of the ritual incantations once it was as dark as everyone could make it. As they spoke the words of power, the white chalk of the ritual circle started to burn with a strange, silver fire. The runes and symbols precisely drawn within also burned silver, and the arcane energy being drawn in from the ley lines intersecting at the centre point of the circle bathed the entire fortification in a pale blue glow. The ley lines themselves burned a brilliant blue, almost white, as they fed the energy of the ritual.

A chill wind blew in from the northwest as rapidly-forming clouds blotted out the twinkling stars. Even the moon was covered up, with only a pale white glow within the cloud cover overhead revealing its position. A sense of malaise and unease swept across the hilltop as the oppressive darkness grew deeper. Grips tightened on weapons as the assembled forces waited in grim anticipation for whatever was to occur.

A tall, dark figure coalesced into being just outside the earthworks, barely illuminated by the arcane fire springing up from the ritual. The scant light was enough to see that the man – for lack of a better word – had skin like the deepest obsidian, and wore shadows draped across his lanky frame like a cloak. Luna suspected that he must have been as tall as Hagrid, but where the half-giant was broad-shouldered and rustic, this man was slender and carried himself with a regal air, one of inborn authority.

The black figure swept his gaze across the hilltop. _**Desist**_ **,** a crushing voice spoke. The sound of his voice thundered silently through the air, not capable so much of being heard as being _felt_. The earth itself trembled at the force of the command. Luna felt her insides go weak and her knees begin to shake but stood rooted to the spot. She wondered where her two best friends were and how long it would take them to get here with Emberstryke. She was not ashamed in the slightest to admit that the only reason she stood her ground was the sight of Oberon standing tall and proud, looking every inch the warrior king, and the mighty Herne standing at his side.

"Never," Oberon replied. There wasn't so much as a tremor in his voice.

 _ **It is not for the likes of you to destroy my knowledge.**_

"Your presence is a blight on our world."

The creature in black laughed.

Luna shuddered at the sound. She'd much rather listen to a thousand claws scraping across a slate board than to hear that laugh again. She did not relax her stance, though, and her weapon did not waver once.

 **Your** _ **world?**_ The mocking in his tone was evident. _**This was**_ **my** _ **world eons before the first of your pitiful ancestors ever crawled its way out of the muck. Your very existence is at**_ **my** _ **mercy.**_ He began to walk forward but was halted at the outer earthworks by the wards set up by the fae.

A sardonic smile passed across Oberon's face. "And yet here we are," he said.

 _ **A mistake which will soon be corrected.**_

Before another word was spoken, a streak of light impacted the black creature in the face. There was a terrific explosion of light as the man's head snapped back and his body was flung off the hillside and landed down past the outer defences. All eyes turned to Luna, who was lowering a brilliant white longbow inlaid with golden trim. "What?" she said.

Oberon shook his head. "You just shot Nyarlathotep. In the face. With an archon's bow, if I am not mistaken."

"Seemed like it would be more effective than a rifle," the young Ravenclaw replied with a shrug. "It sounded to me like he was going to attack."

An angry growl sounded from the base of the hill. The man staggered to his feet, and even in the dim shadows they could tell that he was changing. Flinging the cloak of shadows wide, he stepped forward on three grotesque, clawed legs. His apelike arms ended with long, lean fingers tipped with jagged talons. Long, slender tentacles grew from his back and writhed around his pustule-covered body. His mouth opened impossibly wide as his head stretched and grew into another tentacle, this one as thick as his neck and twice as long as the ones growing out of his back. Save for its ovoid, sphincter-like mouth ringed with sharp teeth, what had been its face was now featureless.

"Lovely," Luna quipped.

The creature screamed out words in a strange, blasphemous tongue as it made a series of ritualized gestures. A shrieking wind picked up as the ground surrounding the hill started to bulge in countless places, as if giant bubbles were rising to the grassy surface.

Oberon paled at the creature's words and called out to his forces in a voice that could easily be heard over the sound of the wind. "Stand ready!"

The first of the swellings burst open in a shower of dirt, dust, and rock as a skeletal arm clawed its way out of the ground. The rest of the desiccated corpse soon followed, dressed in decrepit, rusted armour and stiff, rotted leather. In its hand it carried an ancient, rusted sword. It joined the myriad other skeletal warriors and together they assembled in ranks as the creature Nyarlathotep continued chanting.

"He's raised every single corpse that has ever died on this ground," Oberon explained to the others.

"Of course he has," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Because it's not enough to merely assemble an army when you can make sure it's the most terrifying one ever."

Meanwhile, a series of pale green portals appeared behind the ranks of undead fighters, spitting out creatures that would give monsters nightmares. Hulking, apelike brutes with vertical, slobbering maws where the heads ought to be and, bizarrely, two forearms on each powerful arm, waddled alongside corpulent spiderlike creatures that walked upright on powerful rear legs, each with a mass of writhing tentacles growing out from the carapace where a spider's fangs would otherwise be. Gaunt, emaciated creatures that resembled hounds with stiff, bristly fur prowled next to massive, slimy beings that had four oversized goatish legs ending in cloven hooves, each leg radiating out from the centre point of the body not unlike a starfish, and each body crowned with a veritable forest of squirming tentacles, much like an anemone. Overhead, floating on ragged wings similar to bats, or possibly dragons, soared vaguely humanoid-shaped things with hardened carapaces much like insects. Each one had random spikes of sharpened chitin protruding from its shell, a pointed beak like that of a hawk or other bird of prey, and a long tail with a curved, pointed tip like that of a scorpion.

"You were saying?" Remus noted. He was suddenly grateful for his sordid past and the fruits gleaned from it. His rifles and pistols had much longer ranges than his wand, and with the numbers of the assembled horrors before them he knew that he'd reach magical exhaustion long before dealing with even a fraction of their numbers.

Sirius shuddered. "I never thought I'd miss Azkaban," he said. "Right now, the bloody dementors seem to be preferable company to… whatever those things are."

The werewolf nodded his agreement as he raised his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off a few shots at the flying creatures. Three of them jerked as their bodies were impacted by the bullets, but only one of them fell to the ground – the one that had been hit in the head. "Aim for the head," he stated as he corrected his own aim.

Sirius nodded and opened fire as the ranks of skeletal warriors collided with the defensive lines at the base of the hill.

The dwarves and orcs provided an almost impenetrable barrier as they hewed down the lines of undead with axe and sword, but the relentless animated corpses kept advancing with no thought of self-preservation. For each one dropped, two more were there to immediately take its place. The wood elves and dark elves alike used their own fae magic to blast the growing piles of corpses back so as to not topple over the defenders, in the process clearing out huge swaths of the shambling fighters still clambering over the macabre barriers.

The ents led their awakened trees into the fray, branches grabbing at the undead and tearing them limb from limb. The trees were also the first directly attacked by the larger eldritch abominations that Nyarlathotep had summoned. The sickening sounds of thick, pulpy flesh smacking wetly on splintering wood blended with the cacophony of dwarven battle cries, orcish raging, explosions of spellfire, and steel on steel.

Several of the apelike creatures, roaring their bloodlust, charged through the undead lines, powerful arms knocking the skeletons away left and right as they ran toward the fae lines, their gaping, fanged orifices slavering in anticipation of flesh to rend and blood to drink. While the two Marauders shot down any of the flying creatures that ventured too close, Luna launched arrows of pure energy from the divine bow she wielded, her eyes practically glowing with determination. Each arrow found its mark, each one exploding in a different creature's nightmarish jaws in a gory rain of blood, slime, and mangled flesh. The resulting blasts from her shots blew many of the surrounding undead to pieces as well.

The eldritch hounds tore through the ranks of the defenders, falling by the dozens as dwarven axe and orcish sword hacked them to pieces. Despite their vulnerability to the steel of the defenders, the hounds and undead alike took a serious toll on the united fae as well due simply to their overwhelming numbers. The skeletal warriors were just as likely to attack with their hands as with their ancient, rusted weapons, and the hounds attacked with claw and fang.

Herne ordered his hellhounds unleashed and led his Hunters on a charge down the embankment, the nightmares leaping over the front lines and landing in the middle of the undead legions, sending the walking corpses flying. The Wild Hunt charged through, leaving skeletons hacked into pieces behind them as they charged toward the largest and most dangerous of the eldritch monstrosities.

As the fae defenders held off the undead hordes, their ranks were further decimated by the flying creatures swooping down and scooping up dwarves, orcs, and elves alike, only to let them drop again from high in the air. Those defenders they did not grab as they flew past were lashed at with their vicious, poisonous tails. Many of the elves began to shoot at them with their bows as Sirius and Remus dropped as many as they could with their rifles, but the terrifying creatures were simply too fast for the defenders to have much of an effect on their numbers.

As more abominations poured through the portals, the dread creature Nyarlathotep crawled forward in a curious, rolling gait on legs as thick as tree trunks. Even as Luna shifted her fire upon him, he grabbed an automobile passing by and, grasping it with the long tentacles growing from his back, held it in front of his body and blocked her shots. His grasping claws punched through the windscreen and pulled the screaming driver forcibly from the car before stuffing the unfortunate man in his ravenous maw. The blonde witch felt her stomach lurch at the nauseating sight but kept hammering at the monster as quickly as she could.

Meanwhile, in the centre of Liddington Castle, the energy amassing in the runic circle grew brighter and brighter as the ritual was fed by the arcane power flowing from the ley lines intersecting at its heart. Titania, Maeve, and Lily, trusting in their family, friends, and comrades to hold off Nyarlathotep and his abhorrent legions, focused on their incantations. The horrific tomes of forbidden knowledge lay at the centre of the circle, encased in a glowing, translucent dome of magical energy generated by the intricate rune clusters inscribed in the bare earth around them. It was only minutes away from the vernal equinox and the crux point of the ritual.

The sound of a horrific screeching like the cries of a thousand damned souls filled the air. The airborne monstrosities pulled back for a moment before they regrouped and as one dove toward the hilltop in a wave.

"Ah shit," Sirius growled. "Heads up, Moony!" The two men fired away at the oncoming assault, knowing full well that their efforts would not be sufficient. Luna immediately redirected her own fire and evened up the odds a little, each impact blasting multiple winged creatures to pieces, but even her magnificent bow could not hope to stop the onslaught.

Before the shrieking winged horrors could hit, a tremendous burst of flame roiled over the attacking waves, engulfing the leading ranks in the blazing inferno and causing the others to scatter, breaking off the assault. Hot, rank-smelling ash drifted down like snow as the creatures swallowed by the conflagration were incinerated. A moment later, the shape of a huge dragon blotted out the stars as it soared overhead, pursuing the airborne abominations as they flew off in disarray. Luna smiled in relief as she heard the voice of Harry Potter whooping in glee from the dragon's back as they flew past. With the air assault in tatters and the presence of a dragon on the battlefield, she renewed her attack on the towering form of Nyarlathotep with vigour.

The arrival of Emberstryke immediately shifted the battle in favour of the fae. With Harry and Hermione supplementing the devastating dragonfire with deadly fireballs of their own, the summoned abominations and undead warriors dropped like flies. As they flew past the gigantic monster that seemed to be leading the forces arrayed against them, Harry noticed that the concussive blasts from the archon's bow used by Luna were not doing the creature any damage at all, merely knocking it back somewhat. He signalled Emberstryke to circle around and launch her own attack on the monstrosity.

Much to their surprise, the blast of dragonfire, capable on its own of melting steel, had no effect. Instead of dodging or fleeing, Nyarlathotep bore the brunt of the conflagration and flung the twisted remains of what looked like an automobile at them. Desperately twisting around and diving to get out of the way, the dragon lost sight of the enormous monster for just a second, but a second was all it took. Nyarlathotep lunged forward and grabbed her wing, his jagged claws piercing the thin membrane between the metacarpals as he crushed the bones in his powerful grip and dragged her to the ground. Emberstryke howled in agony as she crashed into the ground and slid to a halt, digging a wide furrow in the field. Shaking her head as she struggled to her feet, she blasted the eldritch monstrosity with her dragonfire again. Whether it harmed the nightmare creature or not, she was not about to simply roll over and die.

Hermione screamed in terror as the dragon veered hard in her attempt to dodge the wreckage flung at them. Harry, accustomed as he was to the insane twists and turns he performed on his broom during a typical quidditch match, held tight to his girlfriend with one arm and one of Emberstryke's pointed spines with the other. The two went flying as the great winged reptile smashed into the ground, and it was only Hermione's hastily-cast cushioning charm that kept them from splattering across the English countryside. As they shakily climbed to their unsteady feet, they could see the towering monster's attention was focused solely on the dragon.

Neither one had escaped the crash unscathed. Hermione's right arm hung uselessly at her side, while Harry could barely put any weight on his left ankle. A trickle of blood ran down his face, and both of them were bruised and scratched up from their landing. A quick glance around told them that the nearest friendly people other than Emberstryke were through a horde of undead corpses and eldritch abominations.

Their path to the gigantic monster that pulled them from the air was unobstructed, and with a sudden chill Harry knew what he had to do. This thing had to be defeated, and not even dragonfire was capable of doing the deed. He remembered coming across a certain spell toward the end of the _Divina Libri Bellica_ , one that could potentially end this creature once and for all. It was an insanely powerful spell, but the cost was high – oh, so high. He hadn't mentioned it to the girls; in fact, he wished he'd never come across it, but once read the incantation was forever burned into his memory. He hadn't thought he'd even consider using it until now.

Hands shaking, he held up the wand that had been one of his most prized possessions over the last four years. He could still remember the day Hagrid had taken him into Ollivander's shop in Diagon Alley, and the mess he'd made of the eccentric wandmaker's shop before picking up this very one. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long. Before he could lose his nerve, he took a deep breath and gently snapped it in half, carefully removing the unbroken phoenix feather within.

"Harry…" his girlfriend started to say as she noticed him bending his wand in half. Confused at what he was doing, her face paled as she saw him remove the feather. There was only one spell that she knew of that required a single phoenix feather as a material component, and she had no doubt in her mind that Harry was preparing to cast it. She'd deliberately said nothing about it to anyone when she had found it in the back of the _Divina Bellica_.

His tear-filled eyes met hers and it was like he was gazing into her very soul. "I'm sorry, Mione," he whispered.

"It's the phoenix-fire spell, isn't it?" she said, her voice bleak. "You know the cost."

He nodded. "I do."

"What about us?"

He hung his head. "Mione, if we can't stop this thing I don't know that we'd have a future anyway."

Tears slid unheeded down her cheeks. "It's not bloody fair," she wept.

"I know," her boyfriend replied as he put his arms around her and pulled her close. "Nothing has ever been fair for us, it seems."

"I love you, Harry." She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him hard.

"I love you too, Hermione," he said as they parted. "Take care of Luna, okay?"

She looked down at her shoes. "Harry, I'm not leaving your side," she said, her voice barely audible. She ejected Voldemort's wand from her wrist holster and snapped it, removing the unbroken core. "I remember you telling me what Ollivander said about your wand and his," she said. "They both had a core of phoenix feather, both donated by Fawkes."

"Hermione…"

"No, Harry. My parents are dead. As much as I love our sister, losing you too would be the end of me. I just wish we could tell her goodbye."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Give me your wand," he said. "I can send her a patronus message from us."

Dropping the broken pieces of Voldemort's wand, she ejected her own wand from its holster, wincing at the pain it caused her broken arm. She handed it to him before moving to his injured side, pulling his arm around her shoulders.

Thinking about the love he shared with his beautiful girlfriend and the future they would have shared together, complete with brown-eyed and green-eyed children without a decent head of hair betwixt them all, he cast his patronus, pushing every ounce of love he possessed into its form. He smiled as the silver stag materialized before them, appearing solid enough to touch. He recorded a quick message with Hermione for their best friend and sent it on its way. Taking a deep breath, he looked his girlfriend in the eye. "Let's finish this," he said.

"I would love to have been Mrs. Potter," she said, her voice quiet.

"I know, Mione. I would have loved you to be Mrs. Potter."

Together the two teens started walking toward the colossal monstrosity. They did their best to close the distance, but it was relentlessly focused on Emberstryke. The dragon was trying her hardest to stay out of its reach, constantly moving back and around, but the monster kept pace with its huge strides. With their injuries they couldn't move fast enough to catch it.

"We need to get its attention," Harry said. Hermione drew her pistol with her left hand, thumbed the safety off, and popped off several shots, thankful that she'd chambered the first round before ever leaving Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately, she might have been throwing rocks at it for all the notice it took.

Using his girlfriend's wand, which was responding to him surprisingly well, he cast an overpowered fireball at the long, thick tentacle in place of its head.

 _That_ seemed to get its attention, not that it did any apparent damage.

Twisting its bulk around, creature bellowed in rage as it charged toward them, clawed hands extended to catch them.

Dropping the pistol, Hermione held her feather in front of her with her good hand and focused on it, not the monster bearing down on them. Harry gently took her right hand in his left as he held out his own feather in his other hand. In unison they chanted the incantation, their focus on the feathers as their voices rose as one into the night. The two feathers began to glow with an inner light, and as they spoke the last syllable together their world exploded in a flash of white.


	17. The Cost of Victory

Luna watched in horror as Nyarlathotep grabbed the dragon's wing and slammed her into the ground. "Sirius! Remus!" she screamed. "Harry and Hermione are in trouble!"

Both men cursed as their eyes followed the direction Luna was pointing. The werewolf checked his watch. "Three minutes, Luna," he said. "We've got to keep the ritual protected or it's all for naught. As soon as the ladies finish the ritual we can go get them."

She nodded, hating that they couldn't get her best friends now, but accepting the reality of the situation. "Come on," she muttered under her breath as she continued shooting her bow. "Hang on for just a few more minutes and we'll come get you."

One of the twisted spider-like creatures broke through the front lines and charged up the hill. She immediately shot it in the head, removing a significant portion of its bulging cranium in a burst of ichor and necrotic flesh. Two more shots shredded its thick legs, bringing it down with a crash that shook the hillside, and a final shot down its gaping head wound blasted its corpulent body into pieces. Undead warriors and spectral hounds poured through the gap afterwards, and the defenders were hard-pressed to close the breach. Aided by the explosive blasts of divine energy from Luna's bow and the withering hail of bullets from the Marauders' rifles, though, the orcs and dwarves were able to halt the intrusion before it could widen the gap.

As her keen eyes surveyed the battlefield, looking for further threats, she saw a silver form tearing its way through the skeletal warriors in a straight line toward her position. As it neared she recognized the silver stag as Harry's patronus. The majestic animal stopped before her and bowed.

"Hi Luna," Harry's voice said. "We're sorry that we're not able to say this in person. You know the consequences of failure here, probably better than we do, so please believe us when we say that we don't see any other option for us at this point. We have a chance to end this, and for the sake of us all we're going to take it. It comes at a terrible price, though. Please forgive us for leaving you like this but know that we love you. This year with you and Hermione as my closest friends has been the best one ever, despite the dangers that we've found ourselves in. You've been the best friend a bloke could ever hope for, Luna-love."

"You showed me a different way of looking at life," Hermione's voice picked up. "It isn't easy for me to look beyond what I can research but being your friend has enriched my life in ways I never thought possible. Along with Harry, you've truly been the best friend I've ever had, Luna. I love you with all my heart."

"We'll see you on the other side, Luna, but hopefully many years from now. Please tell Mum, Sirius, Remus, and your grandmum goodbye for us. It has been an honour and a privilege knowing you. Goodbye, sweet girl."

Tears flowed down her cheeks throughout the message as she realized what her two best friends planned. As the stag disappeared into silver mist, the chanting from the ritual circle behind her ceased. A bar of pure white energy burst from the spread hands of each of the three ladies, touching the pile of cursed occultic tomes in the centre of the circle. A chorus of shrieking screams burst up from the books accompanied by the sound of rushing wind.

At the same instant, on the other side of the battlefield, a pillar of white fire a full fifty feet in diameter erupted from the ground and blasted over a mile into the sky. The entire countryside was bathed in light more brilliant than the noonday sun for miles in every direction.

***DIM***

As soon as the two magic-users spoke the last syllable of their incantation, the being known as Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, the Black Pharaoh, the Faceless God, and a thousand other names was engulfed in a column of divine fire, centred upon the two teens. Everything in a twenty-five-foot radius was immediately incinerated in the purifying, divine flame, the very fire of Creation itself. Not even the ancient horror himself was immune to its power, nor did he have time to utter a sound as his twisted, nightmarish form was burnt to ash in a fraction of a second. The ground itself was rendered to a rippled puddle of glass.

The dragon Emberstryke was just outside the blazing pillar of fire and just managed to close her eyes before she was permanently blinded by the radiant light. As it was, the heat was still sufficient to make her pass out unconscious. All across the battlefield, the undead legions collapsed as one. At the exact same moment, the monstrosities Nyarlathotep had summoned forth winked out of existence as if they had never been.

***DIM***

Rear Admiral Samuel Coleridge was angry, weary, and had all but given up. His battle group had been fighting nonstop for days now, and he wasn't sure how much longer they could keep going. He had lost the cruisers _Chancellorsville_ and _Leahy_ along with the destroyer _Merrill_ , over 1100 men among the three ships, not to mention almost a quarter of his F-18s. Fortunately, the _Kitty Hawk_ was still fully operational, but the way things were going they would run out of fuel and armaments for the fighters before they could put this creature down for good.

He'd lost count now as to how many times they'd destroyed the creature – that limey Miles Braddock called it _Cthulhu_ – and just what the hell kind of name was _that?_ – but the damn thing kept coming back! He remembered the day when it first crawled out of its hole on this damned island. One of his boys in the Warhawks squadron launched an AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground tactical missile right at it, blowing the slimy thing to pieces that quickly disintegrated.

Their elation hadn't lasted an hour. The grey-green miasma that hung in the air after the explosion began to slowly coalesce, and it didn't take long before they could determine the same shape of the hulking nightmare they'd just destroyed. Within two hours of the successful missile strike Cthulhu walked again. After that, everything seemed to blur together in an endless, nightmare loop of destroying the creature, waiting for it to reform, and hitting it again.

Unfortunately, it did not regenerate in the same place every time, nor did it fail to learn and remember the Navy's tactics against it. It started dodging the missiles, lunging up and grabbing planes out of the sky, and even diving under the water only to erupt again from the waves and slam its bulk into the smaller ships. It was entirely possible that even its colossal bulk would not be able to capsize the _Kitty Hawk_ , but that was not something that Coleridge wanted to test.

It was early evening and the creature had respawned yet again. Each time it regenerated, it seemed to adapt more and more to the attacks against it and had now outlasted the missiles and gunfire from his Hornets by a couple of hours now. He watched it standing atop the ancient ruins on the distant island from the bridge of the _Kitty Hawk_ , Braddock and Stevens by his side. All three men wore a haggard expression as they quite simply didn't know what else to do.

As they stood watching, the behemoth suddenly froze and with a horrific roar that they could hear even from this far away, it toppled over. It crushed the strange masonry beneath its massive bulk, toppling several twisted spires as it fell. It lay unmoving amidst the broken stone, slick with the slime and algae of centuries, a fallen relic of a bygone era.

Coleridge grabbed the radio and ordered another Maverick to be launched. When the missile hit this time, rather than disintegrating, the explosion tore the body to pieces, sending rubbery chunks of flesh and cartilage flying in all directions.

"Keep your fingers crossed," Bill Stevens muttered under his breath. Was the nightmare finally over?

Two hours later, the broken corpse still lay motionless atop the mysterious island. All personnel breathed easier as Admiral Coleridge ordered the bombardment of the island. After reporting to Father De Luca, the two members of the Sentinels broke down their command centre and met with the admiral to make arrangements for a flight back to the mainland. Apparently, an unprecedented energy burst had been reported in Britain and the Pope wanted answers.

***DIM***

Luna watched in horror as the pillar of heavenly fire engulfed her two best friends. "No, no, no!" she moaned, bursting into tears. "Oh gods, don't leave me!" Her bow falling from nerveless fingers, she dropped to her knees, weeping inconsolably. She was oblivious to the ragged cheers that started rising at the foot of the hill as the defenders saw their foes collapse lifelessly to the ground.

She stared at the white flames with tears flowing down her cheeks, willing her friends to not be dead. A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she started, only now realizing that someone had been calling her name. She looked up to see a grief-stricken Sirius Black, his countenance every bit as horrified as her own. Remus Lupin was right behind him, a bewildered expression on his face.

"What did they do?" Sirius asked, his voice breaking.

"It has to be the phoenix-fire spell," she replied in a dull monotone. "It allows you to channel divine fire, which is fatal not only to mortal form but will also obliterate the soul of any evil person or creature caught in it. The price of casting it is the spellcaster's… life." Her tears began to flow once more as her voice caught at the end.

The three weary ladies who had successfully conducted the ritual approached Luna and the Marauders. The blonde girl got to her feet and ran to Titania, who wrapped her arms around her granddaughter and held her close.

Lily noticed the devastated expressions on her two old friends. Combined with Luna weeping her eyes out in the arms of her grandmother, she felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. "What happened?" she asked, almost afraid to find out.

The two Marauders took her hands. "It's… it's Harry and Hermione," Sirius choked. "They're… they're dead."

Only the strong grips of the two men kept her from collapsing. "Dead?" she repeated, her voice weak.

"Luna said that they cast a spell capable of taking out that abomination," Remus said. "Super powerful, but it cost their lives."

"I just got my son back," she said. There was a tremor in her voice as she squeezed her friends' hands. "Now you're telling me that he and his girlfriend are gone, for real this time." She looked down at her feet. "This is all my fault," she whispered. If she hadn't stolen the Necronomicon and tapped into its unholy power, then the demonic monstrosity would never have come for them, and the children would still be alive.

"No, Lily," Remus said. "I know what you're thinking, and I'm telling you that it's just not so. There's a lot of people we can point at, not least of whom is Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort himself. We can also lay a significant portion at the feet of Nyarlathotep. None of them were forced to create so much trouble as they did. Out of all the people involved, you are probably just as much a victim as Harry was."

She just nodded, accepting his words but not really feeling any better. Even as they grieved together, the brilliant column of fire shrunk until it went out.

At that moment, several groups of wizards appeared around the hilltop by portkey, all wearing the red robes of aurors and brandishing their wands. Disengaging herself from Luna, Titania approached the first group to appear, flanked by her consort Oberon. Sirius and Remus moved close to Lily as she joined Luna, while Maeve held her ground near the ritual circle.

"Who speaks for you?" Titania inquired. Her voice was polite, but she spoke with regal authority. The aurors instinctively understood that she held power naturally and was not one with whom to bandy words.

"Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," the stern witch introduced herself.

Titania dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I am Titania, queen of the fae and head of the Seelie Court."

The accompanying aurors grew pale at her words. Many had heard of her, but most had consigned her and her people to myth and legend. None had ever expected to meet her face-to-face, but not a one doubted that she was who she claimed to be.

Madam Bones bowed deeply. "It's an honour to meet you, your majesty," she said. Her tone was respectful without being sycophantic and betrayed none of the surprise she felt at meeting not only one of the fae on this side of the Veil, but the queen herself.

"Likewise," the queen re-joined. "Your reputation precedes you, and the reports I have heard all speak favourably of you."

"Thank you," Bones said. She wasn't quite sure which surprised her more: the fact that the queen of the fae had heard reports of her, or that those reports had impressed her. "Your majesty, may I ask what happened here? Not one month ago our wards indicated a magical battle taking place in Crawley, the likes of which we haven't seen since the seventies during Voldemort's uprising. When we found hard evidence to suggest that Voldemort was truly dead and gone this time, we suspected that was the end of it. But tonight, the wards recorded power spikes over a hundred times what were recorded in Crawley. I don't think we've ever recorded readings so high. And so, when we arrive at the location in question, I find what looks like a battlefield with an army of fae standing victorious."

Titania gave the other woman a warm smile. "I certainly understand your apprehension," she said. "In your place, I too would be most concerned. I can assure you, though, that this is not an invasion. We have no design upon your world other than to ensure your own right of self-determination. After we clean up the battlefield, we will be leaving to return to our world, and hopefully you will never have to see us again."

Bones gave the queen a shrewd look. "With all due respect, your majesty, you haven't answered my question."

The queen laughed aloud, a truly wondrous sound. "Indeed, Madam Bones. Suffice to say, we were in the process of cleaning up a mess unwittingly created by one of our own. While we were doing so, a creature of unimaginable power attempted to halt our clean-up efforts, for by so doing we were acting against this creature's interests here in your world. From what I have been able to ascertain the creature has been vanquished once and for all, though not without a terrible cost. Your _Boy-Who-Lived_ paid the ultimate price to bring this creature down, as did his intended. My own people could not have done so well as they did. I will say no more than this, for it involves knowledge that your world is not prepared to receive."

Madam Bones was stunned at Titania's words, as were her aurors, if the cries of dismay and quiet weeping were anything to judge by. Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, was dead? Despite the DMLE's refusal to comment on the boy's presence at the final defeat of Voldemort, the public opinion was that he had indeed been there that terrible night. Who else could it have been? It was also accepted as gospel that the house that had been attacked was where Hermione Granger lived. According to Susan, her niece and fellow classmate of theirs, the two had been joined at the hip ever since their first year at Hogwarts together. If rumour was to be believed, there was even a betting pool circulating the school as to when the two would realize their affection for each other. Not _if_ , but _when_. Their disappearance from school after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, along with Luna Lovegood, had been the source of much gossip and speculation.

The sight of the distraught little Ravenclaw in the arms of – holy _shit_ , was that Lily Potter? She had heard some disturbing reports from Shack and Tonks from the Crawley attack, specifically regarding the possibility that the famous witch may not be dead after all but was instead a victim of Albus Dumbledore's machinations. Seeing her here, alive and well, confirmed that those stories were at least partially true. Fortunately, she had the wily old headmaster cooling his heels in one of her cells back at DMLE headquarters. By god, she was going to dig out every one of his secrets, even if she had to pump him full of veritaserum until it poured from his ears!

The DMLE head knew instinctively that she would not be allowed to ask Lady Potter or Miss Lovegood any questions tonight, possibly ever. She also recognized the recently exonerated Sirius Black and his best friend Remus Lupin protectively standing by, looking for all the world like muggle soldiers. "Your majesty, would you please pass word to Lord Black and Mister Lupin that I would appreciate an official statement at their convenience regarding the events of tonight, as much as they are able to share? I also have some questions regarding Voldemort's attack on Crawley, if they don't mind."

"I will pass the word."

"Thank you. If I may, I would also like to assign a small team including myself to observe your clean-up actions here. I am asking in my official capacity, simply for procedure's sake. I have no intention of interfering with you or anyone under your aegis."

"You may choose two others," the queen replied.

Madam Bones quickly selected Shacklebolt and Tonks, dispatching the rest of her teams back to headquarters. She knew that Minister Fudge and the Wizengamot alike would want as many details regarding tonight's events as possible. She fully intended to supply those details, or at least as many as she could without upsetting the ruler of the mythical fae, beings of such power the average magic-user could only dream about. At the same time, she would need the cooperation of the Wizengamot to even hold a trial for the former Chief Warlock.

The three aurors approached the grieving witches and wizards to offer their condolences while Titania and Maeve held a quick discussion. It was decided for safety reasons that the Unseelie forces under the direction of Herne would return to the Otherworld while the Seelie conducted the clean-up. Maeve alone would remain to comfort her long-lost daughter.

As the Unseelie forces began to teleport away from the battlefield, Titania, Oberon, and Maeve led the witches and wizards down the hillside. Luna suddenly stopped and looked up, a feverish look on her face. She let out a shrill whistle, startling everyone, and her unicorn Kaisa appeared. Despite the solemn atmosphere, Sirius couldn't help cracking a smile at the aurors' reactions to Luna's wicked-looking steed. The blonde girl leapt on the unicorn's back and without a word charged down the hill, through the lines of elves and dwarves, and past the unconscious dragon.

Vaulting off Kaisa's back, she dashed over to the shallow, bowl-shaped depression left by the phoenix-fire spell. She slid down the slick glassy surface to the great pile of ash in the middle and began sifting through the fine powder with her bare hands. As the others reached the lip of the crater, a gentle breeze began to blow in a circular pattern centred over the pile of ash. The wind increased its intensity, creating a funnel-like cloud of the dusty residue. A white light began to shine forth from the midst of the whirlwind, accompanied by a heavenly chorus that filled all who heard it with inexplicable peace and joy.

The observers on the rim saw Luna's face fill with unadulterated happiness as the light divided into two separate points and the surrounding dust began to coalesce on either of the two points. They watched in awe as the points of light took shape, forming bodies, heads, arms, and legs. The two figures hung suspended in the whirlwind before they were both gently lowered to the ground.

Luna wept unashamedly as she saw her two best friends reform from the ashes and take their first breaths in their new bodies. Ignoring their nakedness, she flung herself at them both and wrapped her arms around them. "You came back!" she happily sobbed. Harry and Hermione returned her embrace, rocking the ecstatic girl back and forth.

"We're sorry for leaving you like that," Hermione whispered in her friend's ear, her own tears mingling with Luna's. "It wasn't fair to you."

"It's okay," the other girl replied, sniffling. "You're back now. I know why you did it, and I'm not mad. Just please try not to do it again, okay? Or at least let me have enough time to come with you."

"We'll try," Harry said. What else could be said? They had been faced with a terrible choice, one that neither wanted to repeat, yet knowing the alternative neither would have done anything differently. The _Divina Bellica_ had said nothing about coming back to life, only the terrible cost of casting the spell. It made sense, in a way. As powerful as the spell was, it should only ever be used when the sacrifice of one's life was deemed a fair trade-off for removing an appropriate force of evil. They both acknowledged that if they had known that they would be resurrected their will to defeat the creature would not have been as absolute as it was. Although in retrospect, the name of the spell should have been a clue.

Lily joined them in the basin, followed by Sirius and Remus. The adults quickly conjured clothing for the two, as every stitch they had worn earlier had been incinerated. After a search of the ashes, the only things that had withstood the purifying heat were Harry's sword and Hermione's staff, and the mystical shirts of leather armour. Even the firearms Remus had provided had melted into formless lumps of slag.

After the two were dressed and tearful hugs exchanged, Lily cast a quick medical diagnostic spell on them. She gave a horrified gasp at the results. "Oh my god," she whispered.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

She started crying again. "Both of you, your magical cores are… gone."

Harry exchanged a look with his girlfriend. She gave him a small, sad smile and took his hand. "We're alive, though," he said.

"That's all that matters," Hermione agreed.

Luna came up between them, wrapping an arm around each waist. "Magical or not, you two are my best friends," she said. "I refuse to leave you."

"Me too," Lily said, wiping her tears. "You're my son, Harry, and Hermione, I suspect you'll be my daughter-in-law. We're family, no matter what."

"No matter what, pup," Sirius repeated.

Remus added his agreement as well. "Family," he said.

After reassuring herself that her children were taking the news of their loss okay, Lily continued studying the diagnostics. Much to everyone's surprise, any injuries either had suffered, including old scars, were gone. The horrible signs of the Dursleys' "care" on Harry's back were no longer visible, nor was the jagged hole in his arm from where the basilisk had bitten him in second year. Likewise, there were several small scars that Hermione had collected over the years that were now gone.

Together, the six joined the others at the top of the basin. The teens were first met by their friend Dora, who lightly punched Harry and Hermione on the shoulder before wrapping them all in a tight embrace. "Don't pull that shit again, you hear?" she growled. The care and concern in her eyes belied her rough tone.

When Madam Bones heard the news about the loss of their magical cores, a stricken look crossed her face. "They haven't completed Hogwarts," she said. "Not even their OWLs. You know there will be elements within the Wizengamot that will push to have them obliviated and returned to the muggle world."

"What?" Hermione shrieked indignantly.

"Over my dead body," Sirius growled.

"After all they've done for us?" Remus added. "After all they've lost?"

Harry held up his hand for them to stop and turned to Titania. "Your majesty, is your invitation still open?"

The queen smiled. "By all means," she said. "We would be honoured by your presence."

He turned to his girlfriend. "Mione, there is literally nothing left for us here. We can take Lady Titania's offer of sanctuary in her realm."

"Yes!" Luna jumped in. "Since bonding with Sparkledust I knew that I was going to be spending most of my time in the Otherworld. I would have always come to visit you two, but if you're going to be there too that'll be so much better!"

Maeve stepped forward and took Lily's hands. "My Lunerri, you will always have a home in our world, if you so choose. Your family will be with you, protected from those who would seek to use you for their own ends."

"I'd like that," Lily said with a shy smile.

"And remember, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, the two of you are always welcome in my realm as well," Titania reminded the Marauders.

Harry turned to face the aurors. "Madam Bones, it seems the best thing to do then is to report what happened here tonight but to leave out any word of our resurrection. With the loss of our magic, Hermione and I have nothing left to offer magical Britain. It would be best, then, if we remained the couple that gave their lives to stop a powerful, destructive force worse than Voldemort."

Amelia Bones nodded, a look of relief on her face. "I apologize for bringing up such a possibility," she said, "but I think you've hit on the right solution. That would be far better received than the question of abandoning you. In fact," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "I believe we could push for both of you to receive the Order of Merlin."

Harry sighed. "Just so long as it's posthumous," he said.

"Although I'd love to see the faces of those stuffed-shirts in the Wizengamot awarding a muggleborn the Order of Merlin, even if it is posthumous," Hermione laughed.

Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks both agreed with the decision to keep the couple's resurrection a secret, even swearing a wizarding oath to that effect. The party then left the crater to return to the hilltop. As they passed the unconscious Emberstryke, Harry stopped.

"Lady Titania, could you heal her?" he asked. "She is a friend and does not deserve to be left here."

"No, she does not," the queen agreed as she laid her hands on the dragon's broken wing.

"Your arrival with her turned the tide of the battle," Oberon said. "Without her presence we would likely have been overrun before the ritual could be completed."

Titania began chanting in the language of the long-extinct high elves of her realm, sending healing energy through Emberstryke's body. Bone and sinew reknit as flesh was restored, and before long the dragon's eyes opened to see the young raven-haired teen standing with his girlfriend, a look of concern on both of their faces.

" _Harry Potter,"_ she said. _"It pleases me to see you alive and well."_

" _As it pleases me to see you,"_ he replied. _"I thank you for the help you gave us this night. We were victorious, and without your aid we would not be able to make such a claim."_

" _It was an honour to help,"_ she said. _"I sense, though, that you and your mate have lost your power."_

" _We have,"_ he confirmed, his voice quiet. _"We both paid a terrible price for our victory tonight, but we believe that it was necessary."_

" _The wizards will not allow you to stay in their world."_

" _We know. Queen Titania has given us sanctuary in the Otherworld."_

Emberstryke's eyes widened. _"This is a great honour,"_ she said. _"You must have truly impressed her. Though with the honour you have shown me, I cannot say that I am surprised."_

" _I have only shown that which we should all show to each other,"_ he said, ducking his head.

The dragon gazed at him thoughtfully as Titania finished her healing chant. _"If the queen is willing, Harry Potter, it would please me if you accepted one of my eggs. They are near to hatching, and the care you have shown them already, to say nothing of the care you have shown me, tells me that magic or no, you will be a worthy companion for one of my children."_

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He knelt to one knee and bowed low, his right fist held over his heart. _"You honour me, Great Lady,"_ he said. _"Pending the queen's approval, I humbly accept your gift. I will consider your child a trusted friend and companion to me and mine. Thank you, my friend."_

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked as he stood.

"Emberstryke has offered me one of her eggs, if Lady Titania approves."

The queen smiled. "I do approve," she said. "That is a truly magnificent gift, Harry Potter. It is a rare person who can earn a dragon's respect."

"Like I told her, your majesty, I have only shown the honour and respect we should all show each other."

"Well said," Titania replied.

Madam Bones, Senior Auror Shacklebolt, and Junior Auror Tonks observed the exchange with incredulity. Harry Potter not only could speak with dragons, he had been offered a dragon's egg by the mother herself! All three knew that the Wizengamot would never allow such a thing to happen in their jurisdiction, but since the Boy-Who-Vanquished was now a martyr, at least as far as their official reports would indicate, whether he was granted a dragon's egg or not was none of their business. Especially now since the boy was going to leave magical Britain behind and take sanctuary in the faerie realm.

The DMLE head shook her head. This was a story that could rock the wizarding world to its core. The power levels registered at headquarters tonight were absolutely unheard of, the fae folk were out in force on this side of the Veil facing an adversary that the Faerie Queen herself claimed that the wizarding world was not prepared to even _know_ of, the Boy-Who-Lived and his muggleborn girlfriend sacrificed their very lives and magic in order to vanquish this same adversary – and were resurrected to boot, not that that would ever become common knowledge – and the heroine Lily Potter turned up alive and well on top of all that. Her very presence showed that the actions of Albus Dumbledore, until this year one of the most revered figures in all magical society, were nowhere near as benevolent as he would have the populace believe. Based on the reports from Crawley, she had her suspicions regarding who the mysterious assassin was, but she really couldn't find it in herself to care that much. There wasn't a family alive who hadn't suffered the depredations of the Death Eaters during the war, and it had literally sickened her to see so many claim that they were under the Imperious curse and get off with a mere slap on the wrist. The assassin apparently hadn't believed those claims any more than she did.

She was interested to see which direction their society would now take. So many of the obstructionists and blood bigots in society were those same former Death Eaters who had been brutally murdered this past year. Not all, too be sure – that psychotic bitch Dolores Umbridge came immediately to mind. The vile woman was universally hated at the Ministry but was unfortunately under the protection of Minister Fudge. However, with his chief sources of off-the-books income (primarily the late, unlamented Lucius Malfoy) dead, as well as their silver, forked tongues that unofficially dictated Ministry policy as the price of their gold, Fudge was now open to suggestion from people who actually had the good of the people as a whole in mind. This minister had always been little more than a weak figurehead and mouthpiece of whoever paid him the most rather than an actual statesman, one who was more concerned with his public approval than leading their world in a positive direction. He definitely needed to step down, but for the time being she was willing to tolerate his presence, even help his image, so long as he allowed her to do her bloody job and bring known criminals to justice regardless of their social standing. The discovery and subsequent identification of the mutilated corpse of Peter Pettigrew was just the kick in the pants that he needed to let him know that he was out of his depth and that it was past time to let the true professionals take over. And with the balance of power in the Wizengamot now favouring the moderates, it was only a matter of time before reforms would start to be pushed through, allowing at the very least a more equitable situation for half-bloods and muggleborns. The remaining bigots, of whom Umbridge was the absolute worst sort, would be marginalized more and more. Madam Bones knew that the Wizengamot would still have to suffer through several more of the contemptible woman's diatribes, as she was far too stuck in her ways and far too stubborn to acknowledge that she was wrong, but the DMLE head also knew that each tirade would further push people away from her and her causes. She longed for the day that anything that Dolores Umbridge spewed from her toad-like face would be immediately disregarded, simply because it was her saying it.

Yes, the future seemed bright with possibility. She just wished that it hadn't cost them the continued presence of Harry Potter and his friends, whom she suspected magical Britain owed much more than anyone realized. Yet, as much as she hated to see these three children leave, she couldn't find it in herself to blame them one bit.

It was decided that Harry, Hermione, and Luna would fly back to Emberstryke's lair where he would take possession of the offered egg while Titania's forces finished cleaning the battlefield, a task which would take several hours. As soon as the three teens got back, they would go with Titania and Maeve to the Otherworld. Lily, Sirius, and Remus would leave their official statements and appropriate penseive memories with Madam Bones before returning to the Black home at Grimmauld Place. They all had business to wrap up before Lily would join the rest of her family in the Otherworld.


	18. Epilogue

It was almost a month later, and spring had truly blossomed in Ottery St. Catchpole. Lily Potter stood in the doorway of the Rookery, closed her eyes, and breathed in of the fragrant vernal afternoon. The sky was a brilliant blue that was rarely seen near populated areas, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The sun beat down warm and serene, and there was just enough of a breeze to make it quite pleasant outside. The gentle wind carried with it the scents of pine, honeysuckle, and an odd, tangy aroma that Xenophilius Lovegood claimed was from the dirigible plums that grew upside down in the orchard next to the rook-shaped house.

The last few weeks had been quite eventful, and she was now ready to put it all behind her. After giving her statement to Madam Bones, at her request the DMLE head had given her twenty-four hours before the news of her son and his girlfriend sacrificing their lives would be released. She had taken the opportunity to go to Gringotts and discreetly close all the Potter accounts, removing all the money and heirlooms into chests with professional-level expansion charms permanently anchored by platinum-inlaid runes carved into the interior.

The entire nation was left reeling in shock at the news that their saviour was dead. Few were surprised that he had given his life so selflessly, but most mourned his passing as if he had been a close family member. There were immediate calls for him to receive the Order of Merlin for his sacrifice, as well as having a memorial statue placed at the site of his death. When it was revealed that his girlfriend Hermione Granger was right there with him at the end and joined him as an equal partner in stopping the still-unknown menace, the more fair-minded insisted that she receive the exact same award since she effectively performed the exact same actions. Much to the chagrin of the few remaining blood bigots, the moderates whole-heartedly agreed and pushed the awards through. The proposed statue, which was also approved, was modified to include her as well. The commissioned artist designed the life-sized sculpture to depict the two standing together hand in hand, wands extended in a dramatic pose. He unknowingly captured the pose almost exactly as it had happened in real life. Once completed, the statue was placed in the centre of the glass basin left behind in the Wiltshire field below Liddington Castle. That portion of the field was purchased for a handsome sum from the muggle farmer who owned it, and it was immediately placed under muggle notice-me-not and repelling charms. Over the course of the next few weeks, hundreds of magic-users travelled to the site to pay their respects.

As Lily had anticipated, there had been a surreptitious move on the part of the Ministry, spearheaded by none other than Dolores Umbridge, to claim the Potter vaults now that the line had officially died out. She wished that she could have seen the expression on the toad-woman's face when she learned the vaults had already been emptied and closed.

According to Madam Bones, when Dumbledore, who was still residing in a Ministry cell, heard the news of Harry's death, he suffered a heart attack – apparently his second in less than six months. The old man recovered enough to stand trial a few weeks later, but anyone who looked at him could tell that his spirit was broken. He used up every last bit of political capital he had left and just managed to stay out of Azkaban, but his Gringotts vault was wiped out after the reparations he was required to pay to the Delacour family. Unfortunately, everything he'd done to the Potter family in general and to Harry in particular was technically under his purview as Chief Warlock, though everyone agreed that it was still a gross abuse of his authority. While he could not be officially charged with wrongdoing, it was agreed by all that he could not be trusted in such positions of authority ever again. He was dismissed from his sole remaining position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and forever banned from holding both any position of authority over children and any public office. Even the Order of Merlin he'd received for defeating the dark lord Grindelwald back in 1945 was rescinded for his more recent disgraceful conduct. After all titles and awards were stripped from him, he was allowed to leave on his own recognizance, a beaten, broken man.

Though the government was done with him, Sirius and Remus were not. Working in conjunction with the infamous gossip columnist Rita Skeeter, they published a series of articles exposing the highlights of Dumbledore's misdeeds to the wizarding public. Those columns were advertised as teasers promoting a tell-all book the three would collaborate on over the course of the next few months. Despite Skeeter's reputation for stretching facts beyond all recognition in order to make her stories juicier, the Marauders decided to work with her anyway for her uncanny ability to dig up dirt on practically anyone. Even though she had a penchant for melodrama, the woman had unquestionable skills matched only by her relentless attitude when it came to investigation. By the time she was through with Dumbledore, the man wouldn't be able to show his face again in public, let alone continue with his manipulations.

Lily was satisfied with his fate, to be honest. Though she'd happily strangle the man given the chance, this way had its own distinct appeal. At least this way he'd suffer in ignominy for much, much longer.

Sirius took up his Wizengamot seat as Lord Black and immediately established himself as a moderate. His goal, he confessed to Remus and Lily, was to help steer the Wizengamot into much-needed reforms. When he was satisfied that magical Britain was progressing adequately into the twenty-first century, his plan was to withdraw more and more from public life until he could join the rest of his family in the Otherworld.

Remus, having struck up a friendship with Nymphadora Tonks, was becoming a frequent guest at the Tonks residence, and the bubbly auror was likewise a regular visitor at Grimmauld Place, especially since her mother, and by extension her dad and herself, was welcomed back into the Black family by Sirius. Remus told Lily that he planned to be a regular visitor in the Otherworld too, but for now he still had things to do here in magical Britain. "Not least of which is helping Padfoot find a good woman who will actually tolerate him," he laughed.

The only other thing of note that happened was one day before Dumbledore's trial, Amelia Bones stopped by Grimmauld Place and explained that the muggles were partially aware of the events that had transpired on the vernal equinox. A paramilitary group called the Sentinels had contacted the Ministry of Magic through the Prime Minister, using the special magical portrait that connected the Prime Minister's office to the Minister for Magic's office. They had many questions as to the events of the battle at Liddington Castle and were generally unsatisfied as to the details Madam Bones was able to provide, though at the behest of the Prime Minister they were given a copy of the official report filed by the DMLE. Bones cautioned Lily that she may be considered a person of interest to the Sentinels and admonished her to be careful when moving in public. The feisty redhead took her words to heart and spent most of her time at Black Manor behind the fidelius charm. She was anxious to see her son again, but she wanted to make sure that Albus Dumbledore would never bother them again.

Now, though, she was ready to leave Britain behind forever. After reading about the results of the trial that had only ended yesterday, she prepared the last of her luggage and took the floo to the Rookery. Xenophilius escorted her through their orchards and down the hill to the island where the ring of megalithic stones stood in a circle.

"Tell Moonbeam I will be wrapping up my affairs here," he requested. "I still have a few issues of the _Quibbler_ that need to be written, but I should be done by midsummer."

"Will do, Xeno. Thank you for all your help." With that, she turned and stepped into the stone circle. The English spring afternoon faded away only to be replaced with the giant white trees of the faerie realm, and with it faded the cares and worries of magical Britain.

Five familiar faces stood waiting, all smiling in greeting, but she only had eyes for one. Her son stood at the edge of the clearing, looking more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. By god, he looked _happy_. He was flanked by his lady love and their best friend, and the two fae queens stood on either side of the trio.

"Welcome home, Mum," Harry said. He held out his arms and she rushed to her son, embracing him as tears of joy ran down her face. Hermione and Luna both joined in while Titania and Maeve looked on.

After the girls broke the hug, Harry stepped back from his mother with a mischievous glint in his eyes. With barely a hint of a smile, he held his hand up. A moment later, a small globe of azure flame danced in his palm.

Lily gasped in amazement. "You got your magic back!" she exclaimed. Her eyes immediately went to her son's love.

Hermione smiled and produced a similar flame in her hand. "Not exactly," she said. "Our magical cores are gone. That was the cost of our victory. But Titania and Maeve have been teaching us how to use the flows of natural magic generated by the elements themselves. As it turns out, all three of us have a natural aptitude for it."

Laughing in sheer joy, Lily joined the others as they adjourned to Titania's court, where a lavish banquet was laid out in celebration of her return to her home. At long last, all was right in their world. The darkness had been pushed back, and the madness driven away. The price had been paid and the victory won, and they now could enjoy their well-earned rewards. Their part was done. It was now up to others to pick up the torch and carry the light.

***DIM***

"Good night, Dora. I had a wonderful time with you this evening." Remus Lupin leaned in and kissed his new girlfriend after dropping her off at the doorstep of her parents' house. It was a rare Friday night off for Junior Auror Nymphadora Tonks, and they had immediately taken advantage of the opportunity to enjoy their first official date.

"Thanks for taking me out, Mooney," she replied. "I trust that I won't have to kick your bloody arse to take me out again?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "Not at all," he said. "My lesson is well and truly learned. Auror Tonks is perfectly capable of taking care of herself against a moping werewolf."

"And don't you forget it, buster," she said. Grabbing his shirt, she pulled him in for another kiss, this time brushing his lips with her tongue before stepping back, her smile teasing. "Will you be joining us for lunch on Sunday?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Andy's a marvellous cook."

"See you then, handsome."

He watched his bubbly girlfriend go inside before turning and making his way down the walk. He thought about apparating back to Sirius' house, but decided instead that it was a lovely evening, just the right temperature for a walk. There was a station for the Underground not too far away and it wouldn't take much time at all to ride the train back to Islington.

Distracted as he was by thoughts of Dora, he almost missed the scuff of a shoe behind him. He whipped around, ready to draw his wand from its holster, only to see a middle-aged man wearing a suit, trench coat, and fedora standing there with his hands raised nonchalantly in the air. "Remus Lupin?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?" Lupin replied, his voice suspicious. The man was obviously nonmagical, but few outside the magical world even knew his name. Due to the less-than-savoury work he had done in the nonmagical world, those who did were not exactly the sort one would be inclined to invite to a Sunday social.

The man lowered his hands but kept them in view. "My name is Miles Braddock. I have a proposition for you…"

***DIM***

Emberstryke had lived for the better part of five hundred years, but never before had she seen one of the Elders, let alone been summoned by one. Granted, most of the rumours concerning them said that they'd all been asleep in their hidden lairs for centuries. Others said that they'd left this world behind, perhaps even the entire dimension, never to return. Yet ingrained into the DNA of every dragon was the knowledge that if summoned by one, it was imperative that the summoned make an appearance with all due haste.

And so it was that she found herself circling in the twilit sky over the picturesque Ogwen Valley in northwest Wales. Her keen eyes picked up the dark silver scales and brass-like highlights of the Elder who had summoned her. He was standing on the banks of a small lake on the west slope of Tryfan, the fifteenth-highest peak in Wales with its distinctive jagged crown, overlooking Llyn Ogwen to the north, the larger lake that was the namesake of the valley.

She quickly landed before him and bowed her head in obeisance. He was easily ten times her size, and she was not considered a small dragon by any means. She could only imagine what the dragon handlers at her former reserve would think at the sight of the ancient dragon standing regally before her. "I have come at your behest, Lord Celedyr," she said.

"Thank you for your prompt arrival," came his reply. His voice reminded her of boulders rolling down a hillside but was not at all unpleasant. "Tell me of the events of the vernal equinox," he commanded.

She complied immediately, leaving nothing out. She knew that if she lied to him or even left out a crucial piece of information he would likely devour her on the spot. The Elders were not cruel, as such, but not a one had any tolerance for dissembling and foolishness.

"Thank you," he said again as she finished her tale. "I called you here to inform you that great changes are on the winds. There has been a shift in the powers of the earth and sky, even the stars themselves, and that shift began on the night of the equinox. That night was like an unchaining of our very souls. Even the land itself cried out in relief. The others will certainly be interested to know what happened. Who knows, I may even tell some of them. For now, watch and wait. The world is not yet ready for us, but soon it will be our time."

"Yes, my lord," Emberstryke replied.

"I would like you to keep in touch with the Potter lad and his family. Dark times are ahead, but there will be much opportunity as well. It will require people of indomitable will and fortitude to make their way through the turbulence, and should they ever decide to return I feel those three would make formidable allies."

"With respect, my lord, I do not believe they will ever return. The magical world holds nothing for them anymore."

The colossal dragon smiled. "The so-called magical world will need to adapt to the coming changes or it will find itself completely irrelevant. They have no idea what is coming and as of now they are in no way prepared for it. In just a few short decades there will no longer be a magical or mundane world, it will just be the world and whatever we make of our own parts in it. Perhaps by then we may find some way to entice Potter to re-join the world."

"Perhaps so. It would be pleasant to fly with him again."

"Even more so if you do not have to hide your flight from anyone."

She looked up, her eyes wide. "What are you saying?" she whispered.

Celedyr shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. "Patience, Emberstryke. You will see. For now, you may return to your lair and your eggs. They should be hatching soon, no?"

She dipped her head in respect. "Any day now, my lord. Thank you for the honour of meeting with me."

He nodded and watched as she turned and leapt up into the air. In less than a minute she disappeared from view against the starry night sky.

The air around the great dragon shimmered for a moment. The gigantic winged lizard disappeared, only to be replaced by a pale young man with copper-coloured hair, wearing khaki pants, a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and brown hiking boots. A smile of anticipation played across his lips as he climbed down the steep hillside to one of the carparks along the A5 that skirted Llyn Ogwen. He made his way to a brand-new silver Aston Martin DB7, one of the first of that model off the line. A small sticker on the windscreen indicated that the car was authorized to enter the employee carpark of Oxford Computer Consultants.

As he climbed into the driver seat, Celedyr looked northward in the same direction the smaller female dragon had flown off. "Yes, you will see, my dear Emberstryke. The whole world will see." Without another word, he started his car and sped off into the night.

***Finite Incantatum***

 **AN:** Well, we have come now to the end of this particular journey. I would like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has read and reviewed. I did not answer every single review, but I read and appreciated each and every one. As has been pointed out, the ending was a little rushed. That was a concern of mine as I wrapped it up, yet that was just how the story wrote itself. That being said, the reason I write fan fiction and post here is so that I can hone my craft. If you have any ideas for improving or expanding upon what I've written without changing the story, by all means feel free to PM me. I am definitely open to suggestions! I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope to see you again sometime for a new adventure! I will be spending most of my time in the forseeable future working on original work that hopefully I will be able to earn a living from one day. That being said, I've also got some ideas floating around that could be gelled into a sequel for this one.

Final disclaimer: For the bulk of this story, please refer to the initial disclaimer at the beginning. Any real people mentioned are used ficticiously. Celedyr is owned by Topps.


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